^ ^    » 

GIFT  OF 
Henry  U,   Brandenstein 


.  T^cM.^.  ^^*^< 


CICERO'S 


TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS; 


ALSO,  TREATISES  ON 


THE  NATUKE   OF  THE  GODS, 

AND    ON 

THE  COMMONWEALTH. 


LITERM.LY  TRANSLATED,  CHIEFLY  BY 

c.  D.  yo:n^ge. 


NEW   YORK    AND   LONDON: 

HARPER   &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS, 
1899. 


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CICERO'S   ORATIONS. 

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PLATO  (SELECT 


CICERO'S  TUSCULAN  DISPUTA- 
TIONS, THE  NATURE  OF  THE 
GODS,  AND  THE  COMMON- 
WEALTH. 

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XENOPHON. 

HOMKH'S   II  IAD. 

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NOTE 


The  greater  portion  of  the  Republic  was  previously  translated 
by  Frauds  Barham,  Esq.,  and.  published  in  1841.  Although  ably 
performed,  it  was  not  sufficiently  close  for  the  purpose  of  the 
"  Classical  Library,"  and  was  therefore  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  present  editor  for  revision,  as  well  as  for  collation  with  recent 
texts.     This  has  occasioned  material  alterations  and  additions. 

The  treatise  "On  the  Nature  of  the  Gods"  is  a  revision  of  that 
usually  ascribed  to  the  celebrated  Benjamin  Franklin. 


M103724 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 

Tusculan  Disputations 7 

On  the  Nature  of  the  Gods 209 

On  the  Commonwealth 357 


THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

In  the  year  a.u.c.  708,  and  the  sixty  -  second  year  of 
Cicero's  age,  his  daughter,  Tullia,  died  in  childbed ;  and 
her  loss  afflicted  Cicero  to  such  a  degree  that  he  aban- 
doned all  pubUc  business,  and,  leaving  the  city,  retired  to 
Asterra,  which  was  a  country  house  that  he  had  near  An- 
tiura ;  where,  after  a  while,  he  devoted  himself  to  philo- 
sophical studies,  and,  besides  other  works,  he  published 
his  Treatise  de  Finibus,  and  also  this  treatise  called  the 
Tusculan  Disputations,  of  which  Middleton  gives  this  con- 
cise description  : 

"  The  first  book  teaches  us  how  to  contemn  the  terrors 
of  death,  and  to  look  upon  it  as  a  blessing  rather  than  an 
evil: 

"  The  second,  to  support  pain  and  affliction  with  a  man- 
ly fortitude; 

"The  third,  to  appease  all  our  complaints  and  uneasi- 
nesses under  the  accidents  of  life  ; 

"The  fourth,  to  moderate  all  our  other  passions; 

"And  the  fifth  explains  the  sufficiency  of  virtue  to  make 
men  happy." 

It  was  his  custom  in  the  opportunities  of  his  leisure  to 
take  some  friends  with  him  into  the  country,  where,  in- 
stead of  amusing  themselves  with  idle  sports  or  feasts, 
their  diversions  were  wholly  speculative,  tending  to  im- 
prove the  mind  and  enlarge  the  understanding.  In  this 
manner  he  now  spent  five  days  at  his  Tusculan  villa  in  dis- 
cussing with  his  friends  the  several  questions  just  men- 
tioned. For,  after  employing  the  mornings  in  declaiming 
and  rhetorical  exercises,  they  used  to  retire  in  the  after- 


8  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

noon  into  a  gallery,  called  the  Academy,  Avhich  he  had 
built  for  the  purpose  of  philosophical  conferences,  where, 
after  the  manner  of  the  Greeks,  he  held  a  school,  as  they 
called  it,  and  invited  the  company  to  call  for  any  subject 
that  they  desired  to  liear  explained,  which  being  proposed 
accordingly  by  some  of  the  audience  became  immediately 
the  argument  of  that  day's  debate.  These  five  conferences, 
or  dialogues,  he  collected  afterward  into  writing  in  the 
very  words  and  manner  in  which  they  really  passed ;  and 
published  them  under  the  title  of  his  Tusculan  Disputa- 
tions, from  the  name  of  the  villa  in  which  they  were  held. 


BOOK  I. 

ON   THE    CONTEMPT    OF   DEATH. 

I.  At  a  time  when  I  had  entirely,  or  to  a  great  degree, 
released  myself  from  my  labors  as  an  advocate,  and  from 
my  duties  as  a  senator,  I  had  recourse  again,  Brutus,  prin- 
cipally by  your  advice,  to  those  studies  which  never  had 
been  out  of  my  mind,  although  neglected  at  times,  and 
which  after  a  long  interval  I  resumed ;  and  now,  since  the 
princi])les  and  rules  of  all  arts  which  relate  to  living  well 
depend  on  the  study  of  wisdom,  which  is  called  philoso- 
phy, I  have  thought  it  an  employment  worthy  of  me  to  il- 
lustrate them  in  the  Latin  tongue,  not  because  philosophy 
could  not  be  understood  in  the  Greek  language,  or  by  the 
teaching  of  Greek  masters ;  but  it  has  always  been  my 
opinion  that  our  countrymen  have,  in  some  instances,  made 
wiser  discoveries  than  the  Greeks,  with  reference  to  those 
subjects  which  they  have  considered  worthy  of  devoting 
their  attention  to,  and  in  others  have  improved  upon  their 
discoveries,  so  that  in  one  way  or  other  we  surpass  them 
on  every  point ;  for,  with  regard  to  the  manners  and  hab- 
its of  private  life,  and  family  and  domestic  affairs,  we  cer- 
tainly manage  them  with  more  elegance,  and  better  than 
they  did ;  and  as  to  our  republic,  that  our  ancestors  have, 
beyond  all  dispute,  formed  on  better  customs  and  laws. 
What  shall  I  say  of  our  military  affairs;  in  which  our  an- 
cestors have  been  most  eminent  in  valor,  and  still  more  so 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  9 

in  discipline?  As  to  those  things  whicli  are  attained  not 
by  study,  but  nature,  neither  Greece,  nor  any  nation,  is 
comparable  to  us;  for  what  people  has  displayed  such 
gravity,  such  steadiness,  such  greatness  of  soul,  probity, 
faith  —  such  distinguished  virtue  of  every  kind,  as  to  be 
equal  to  our  ancestors.  In  learning,  indeed,  and  all  kinds 
of  literature,  Greece  did  excel  us,  and  it  was  easy  to  do 
so  where  there  was  no  competition ;  for  while  among  the 
Greeks  the  poets  were  the  most  ancient  species  of  learned 
men  —  since  Homer  and  Ilesiod  lived  before  the  founda- 
tion of  Rome,  and  Archilochus^  was  a  contemporary  of 
Romulus  —  we  received  poetry  much  later.  For  it  was 
about  five  hundred  and  ten  years  after  the  building  of 
Rome  before  Livius'^  published  a  play  in  the  consulship  of 
C.  Claudius,  the  son  of  Coecus,  and  M.  Tuditanus,  a  year 
befoie  the  birth  of  Ennius,  who  was  older  than  Plautus 
and  Naevius. 

II.  It  was,  therefore,  late  before  poets  were  either  known 
or  received  among  us ;  though  we  find  in  Cato  de  Origini- 
bus  that  the  guests  used,  at  their  entertainments,  to  sing 
the  praises  of  famous  men  to  the  sound  of  the  flute ;  but 
a  speech  of  Cato's  shows  this  kind  of  poetry  to  have  been 
in  no  great  esteem,  as  he  censures  Marcus  Nobilior  for 
carrying  poets  with  him  into  his  province;  for  thafcon- 
sul,  as  we  know,  carried  Ennius  with  him  into  JEtolia. 
Therefore  the  less   esteem  poets  were  in,  the  less  were 

^  Arcliilochus  was  a  native  of  Paros,  and  flourished  about  714-G7G 
B.C.  His  poems  were  chiefly  Iambics  of  bitter  satire.  Horace  speaks 
of  him  as  the  inventor  of  Iambics,  and  calls  himself  his  pupil. 

Parios  ego  pvimns  lambos 
Ostendi  Latio,  mimeros  auimosqne  eecatns 
Archilochi,  nou  res  et  agentia  verba  Lycamben. 

Epist.  I.  xix.  25. 
And  in  another  place  he  says, 

Archilochuin  proprip  rabies  armavit  lambc— A.  P.  74. 

'  This  was  Livius  Andronicus :  he  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  native 
of  Tarentum,  and  he  was  made  prisoner  by  the  Romans,  during  their 
Avars  in  Southern  Italy ;  owing  to  which  he  became  tlie  slave  of  M. 
Liviiis  Salinator.  He  wrote  both  comedies  and  tragedies,  of  which  Cic- 
ero (Brutus  18)  speaks  very  contemptuously,  as  "Livianaj  fabulae  non 
satis  dignte  qua;  iterum  legantur" — not  worth  reading  a  second  time. 
He  also  wrote  a  Latin  Odyssey,  and  some  hymns,  and  died  probably 
about  221  B.C. 

1* 


10  THE   TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

those  studies  pursued ;  though  even  then  those  who  did 
dispLiy  the  greatest  abilities  that  way  were  not  very  in- 
ferior to  the  Greeks.  Do  we  imagine  that  if  it  had  been 
considered  commendable  in  Fabius/  a  man  of  the  highest 
rank,  to  paint,  we  should  not  have  had  many  Polycleti  and 
Parrhasii?  Honor  nourishes  art,  and  glory  is  tlie  spur 
with  all  to  studies;  while  those  studies  are  always  neg- 
lected in  every  nation  which  are  looked  upon  disparaging- 
ly. The  Greeks  held  skill  in  vocal  and  instrumental  mu- 
sic as  a  very  important  accomplishment,  and  therefore  it 
is  recorded  of  Epaminondns,  who,  in  my  opinion,  was  the 
greatest  man  among  the  Greeks,  that  he  played  excellent- 
ly on  the  flute ;  and  Themistocles,  some  years  before,  was 
deemed  ignorant  because  at  an  entertainment  he  declined 
the  lyre  when  it  was  offered  to  iiim.  For  this  reason  mu- 
sicians flourished  in  Greece;  music  was  a  general  study  ; 
and  whoever  was  unacquainted  with  it  was  not  considered 
as  fully  instructed  in  learning.  Geometry  was  in  high  es- 
teem with  them,  therefore  none  were  more  honorable  than 
mathematicians.  But  we  have  confined  this  art  to  bare 
measuring  and  calculating. 

III.  But,  on  the  contrary,  we  early  entertained  an  esteem 
for  the  orator;  though  he  was  not  at  first  a  man  of  learn- 
ing,*but  only  quick  at  speaking :  in  subsequent  times  he 
became  learned ;  for  it  is  reported  that  Galba,  Africanus, 
and  Loelius  were  men  of  learning;  and  that  even  Cato, 
who  preceded  them  in  point  of  time,  was  a  studious  man: 
then  succeeded  the  Lepidi,  Carbo,  and  Gracchi,  and  so 
many  great  orators  after  them,  down  to  our  own  times, 
that  we  were  very  little,  if  at  all,  inferior  to  the  Greeks. 
Philosophy  has  been  at  a  low  ebb  even  to  this  present 
time,  and  has  had  no  assistance  from  our  own  language, 
and  so  now  I  have  undertaken  to  raise  and  illusti-ate  it,  in 
order  that,  as  I  have  been  of  service  to  my  countrymen, 
when  employed  on  public  affairs,  I  may,  if  possible,  be  so 
likewise  in  my  retirement;  and  in  this  I  must  take  the 
more  pains,  because  there  are  already  many  books  in  the 

'  C.  Fabins,  surnamed  Pictor,  painted  the  temjjle  of  Saliis,  which  the 
dictator  C.Junius  Brutus  Bnbulns  dedicated  302  u.c.  The  temple  was 
destroyed  by  fire  in  the  reign  of  Claudius.  The  painting  is  highly 
praised  by  Dionysius,  xvi.  G, 


ON  THE   CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  11 

Latin  language  which  are  said  to  be  written  inaccurately, 
having  been  composed  by  excellent  men,  only  not  of  suffi- 
cient learning ;  for,  indeed,  it  is  possible  that  a  man  may 
think  well,  and  yet  not  be  able  to  express  his  thoughts 
elegantly ;  but  for  any  one  to  publish  thoughts  which  he 
can  neither  arrange  skilfully  nor  illustrate  so  as  to  enter- 
tain his  reader,  is  an  unpardonable  abuse  of  letters  and 
retirement:  they,  therefore,  read  their  books  to  one  an- 
other, and  no  one  ever  takes  them  up  but  those  who  wish 
to  have  the  same  license  for  careless  writing  allowed  to 
themselves.  Wherefore,  if  oratory  has  acquired  any  rep- 
utation from  my  industry,  I  shall  take  the  more  pains  to 
open  the  fountains  of  philosophy,  from  which  all  my  elo- 
quence has  taken  its  rise. 

IV.  But,  as  Aristotle,^  a  man  of  the  greatest  genius,  and 
of  the  most  various  knowledge,  being  excited  by  the  glory 
of  the  rhetorician  Isocrates,'^  commenced  teaching  young 
men  to  speak,  and  joined  philosophy  with  eloquence :  so 
it  is  my  design  not  to  lay  aside  my  former  study  of  ora- 
tory, and  yet  to  employ  myself  at  the  same  time  in  this 
greater  and  more  fruitful  art;  for  I  have  always  thought 
that  to  be  able  to  speak  copiously  and  elegantly  on  the 
most  important  questions  was  the  most  perfect  philoso- 
phy. And  I  have  so  diligently  applied  myself  to  this  pur- 
suit, that  I  have  already  ventured  to  have  a  school  like  the 
Greeks.  And  lately  wlien  you  left  us,  having  many  of  my 
friends  about  me,  I  attempted  at  my  Tusculan  villa  what 
I  could  do  in  that  way ;  for  as  I  formerly  used  to  practise 
declaiming,  which  nobody  continued  longer  than  myself, 
so  this  is  now  to  be  the  declamation  of  my  old  age.  I  de- 
sired any  one  to  propose  a  question  which  he  wished  to 
have  discussed,  and  then  I  argued  that  point  either  sit- 
ting or  walking;  and  so  I  have  compiled  the  "scholae,  as  the 
Greeks  call  them,  of  five  days,  in  as  many  books.  We  pro- 
ceeded in  this  manner:  when  he  who  had  proposed  the 
subject  for  discussion  had  said  what  he  thought  proper,  I 

^  For  an  account  of  the  ancient  Greek  philosophers,  see  the  sketch  at 
the  end  of  the  Disputations. 

"^  Isocrates  was  born  at  Athens  43G  B.C.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Gorgias, 
Prodicus,  and  Socrates.  He  opened  a  school  of  rhetoric,  at  Athens,  with 
great  success.     He  died  by  his  own  hand  at  the  age  of  ninety-eight. 


12  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

spoke  against  liim ;  for  this  is,  you  know,  the  old  and  So- 
cratic  method  of  arguing  against  another's  opinion ;  for 
Socrates  thought  that  thus  the  truth  would  more  easily  be 
arrived  at.  But  to  give  you  a  better  notion  of  our  dispu- 
tations, I  will  not  barely  send  you  an  account  of  them,  but 
represent  them  to  you  as  they  were  carried  on ;  therefore 
let  the  introduction  be  thus : 

V.  A.  To  me  death  seems  to  be  an  evil. 

3f.  What,  to  those  who  are  already  dead?  or  to  those 
who  must  die? 

A.  To  both. 

M.  It  is  a  misery,  then,  because  an  evil  ? 

A.  Certainly. 

M.  Then  those  who  have  already  died,  and  those  who 
have  still  got  to  die,  are  both  miserable  ? 

A.  So  it  appears  to  me. 

M.  Then  all  are  miserable  ? 

A.  Every  one. 

31.  And,  indeed,  if  you  wish  to  be  consistent,  all  that 
are  already  born,  or  ever  shall  be,  are  not  only  miserable, 
but  always  will  be  so;  for  should  you  maintain  those  only 
to  be  miserable,  you  would  not  except  any  one  living,  for 
all  must  die;  but  there  should  be  an  end  of  misery  in 
death.  But  seeing  that  the  dead  are  miserable,  we  are 
born  to  eternal  misery,  for  they  must  of  consequence  be 
miserable  who  died  a  hundred  thousand  years  ago ;  or 
rather,  all  that  have  ever  been  born. 

A.  So,  indeed,  I  think. 

If.  Tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  are  you  afraid  of  the  three- 
headed  Cerberus  in  the  shades  below,  and  the  roaring 
waves  of  Cocytus,  and  the  passage  over  Acheron,  and 
Tantalus  expiring  with  thirst,  while  the  water  touches  his 
chin ;  and  Sisyphus, 

Who  sweats  with  arduous  toil  in  vain 
The  steepy  summit  of  the  mount  to  gain  ? 

Perhaps,  too,  you  dread  the  inexorable  judges,  Minos  and 
Rhadamanthus;  before  whom  neither  L.  Crassus  nor  M. 
Antonius  can  defend  you ;  and  where,  since  the  cause  lies 
before  Grecian  judges,  you  will  not  even  be  able  to  employ 
Demosthenes;  but  you  must  plead  for  yourself  before  a 


ON  THE   CONTEMPT   OF  DEATH.  13 

very  great  assembly.  These  things  perhaps  you  dread, 
and  therefore  look  on  death  as  an  eternal  evil. 

VI.  A.  Do  you  take  me  to  be  so  imbecile  as  to  give 
credit  to  such  things? 

M.  What,  do  you  not  believe  them? 

A.  Not  in  the  least. 

M.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that. 

A.  Why, I  beg? 

31.  Because  I  could  have  been  very  eloquent  in  speak- 
ino^  ag^ainst  them. 

A.  And  who  could  not  on  such  a  subject?  or  what 
trouble  is  it  to  refute  these  monstrous  inventions  of  the 
poets  and  painters  ?^ 

M.  And  yet  you  have  books  of  philosophers  full  of  ar- 
guments against  these. 

A.  A  great  waste  of  time,  truly !  for  who  is  so  Aveak 
as  to  be  concerned  about  them  ? 

J\f.  If,  then,  there  is  no  one  misei'able  in  the  infernal 
regions,  there  can  be  no  one  there  at  all. 

A.  I  am  altogether  of  that  opinion. 

M.  Where, then,  are  those  you  call  miserable?  or  what 
place  do  they  inhabit?  For,  if  they  exist  at  all,  they  must 
be  somewhere. 

A.  1,  indeed,  am  of  opinion  that  they  are  nowhere. 

M.  Then  they  have  no  existence  at  all. 

A.  Even  so,  and  yet  they  are  miserable  for  this  very 
reason,  that  they  have  no  existence. 

31.  I  had  rather  now  have  you  afraid  of  Cerberus  than 
speak  thus  inaccurately. 

A.  In  what  respect? 

3f.  Because  you  admit  him  to  exist  whose  existence 
you  deny  with  the  same  breath.  Where  now  is  your 
sagacity  ?  When  you  say  any  one  is  miserable,  you  say 
that  he  who  does  not  exist,  does  exist. 

A.  I  am  not  so  absurd  as  to  say  that. 

'  So  Horace  joins  these  two  classes  as  inventors  of  all  kinds  of  improb« 
able  fictions : 

Pictoribws  atque  poetis 
Quidlibet  nudendi  semper  fait  tequa  potestas. — A.  P.  9. 

Which  Roscommon  translates : 

Painters  and  poets  have  been  still  allow'd 
Their  pencil  and  their  fancies  luicoutiued. 


14  TflE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

M.  What  is  it  that  yon  do  say,  then  ? 

A.  I  say,  for  instance,  that  Marcus  Crassns  is  miserable 
in  being  deprived  of  such  great  riches  as  his  by  death ; 
that  Cn.  Pompey  is  miserable  in  being  taken  from  such 
glory  and  honor;  and,  in  sliort,  that  all  are  miserable  who 
are  deprived  of  this  light  of  life. 

M.  You  have  returned  to  the  same  point,  for  to  be  mis- 
erable implies  an  existence;  but  you  just  now  denied  that 
the  dead  had  any  existence:  if,  then,  they  have  not,  they 
can  be  nothing;  and  if  so,  they  are  not  even  miserable. 

A.  Perhaps  I  do  not  express  what  I  mean,  for  I  look 
upon  this  very  circumstance,  not  to  exist  after  having  ex- 
isted, to  be  very  miserable. 

M.  What,  more  so  than  not  to  have  existed  at  all? 
Therefore,  those  who  are  not  yet  born  are  miserable  be- 
cause they  are  not ;  and  we  ourselves,  if  we  are  to  be  mis- 
erable after  death,  were  miserable  before  we  were  born : 
but  I  do  not  remember  that  I  was  miserable  before  I  was 
born ;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  know,  if  your  memory  is 
better,  what  you  recollect  of  yourself  before  you  were 
born. 

VIT.  A.  You  are  pleasant:  as  if  I  had  said  that  those 
men  are  miserable  who  are  not  born,  and  not  that  they  are 
so  who  are  dead. 

M.  You  say,  then,  that  they  are  so  ? 

A.  Yes ;  I  say  that  because  they  no  longer  exist  after 
having  existed  they  are  miserable. 

31.  You  do  not  perceive  that  you  are  asserting  contra- 
dictions ;  for  what  is  a  greater  contradiction,  than  that 
that  should  be  not  only  miserable,  but  should  have  any 
existence  at  all,  which  does  not  exist?  When  you  go  out 
at  the  Capene  gate  and  see  tlie  tombs  of  the  Calatini,  the 
Scipios,  Servilii,  and  Metelli,  do  you  look  on  them  as  mis- 
erable ? 

A.  Because  you  press  me  with  a  word,  henceforward  I 
will  not  say  they  are  miserable  absolutely,  but  miserable 
on  this  account,  because  they  have  no  existence. 

31.  You  do  not  say,  then,  "  M.  Crassns  is  miserable," 
but  only  "  Misei-able  M.  Crassns." 

A.  Exactly  so. 

M.  As  if  it  did  not  follow  that  whatever  you  speak  of 


ON   THE   CONTEMPT   OF  DEATH.  -15 

in  that  manner  either  is  or  is  not.  Are  you  not  acquaint- 
ed with  the  first  principles  of  logic  ?  For  this  is  the  first 
thing  they  lay  down,  Whatever  is  asserted  (for  that  is  the 
best  way  that  occurs  to  me,  at  the  moment,  of  rendering 
the  Greek  term  d^iioixa ;  if  I  can  think  of  a  more  accurate 
expression  hereaftei",  I  will  use  it),  is  asserted  as  being  ei- 
tlier  true  or  false.  When,  therefore,  you  say,  "  Miserable 
M.  Crassus,"  you  either  say  this,  "M.  Crassus  is  misera- 
ble," so  tliat  some  judgment  may  be  made  whether  it  is 
true  or  false,  or  you  say  nothing  at  all. 

A.  Well,  then,  I  now  own  that  the  dead  are  not  miser- 
able, since  you  have  drawn  from  me  a  concession  that 
they  who  do  not  exist  at  all  can  not  be  miserable.  What 
then  ?  We  that  are  alive,  are  we  not  wretched,  seeing  we 
must  die?  for  what  is  there  agreeable  in  life,  w^hen  we 
must  night  and  day  reflect  that,  at  some  time  or  other,  we 
must  die? 

VIII.  31.  Do  you  not,  then,  perceive  how  great  is  the 
evil  from  which  you  have  delivered  human  nature? 

A.  By  what  means? 

M.  Because,  if  to  die  were  miserable  to  the  dead,  to  live 
would  be  a  kind  of  infinite  and  eternal  misery.  Now, 
however,  I  see  a  goal,  and  when  I  have  reached  it,  there  is 
nothing  more  to  be  feared  ;  but  yon  seem  to  me  to  follow 
the  opinion  of  Epicharmus,^  a  man  of  some  discernment, 
and  sliar])  enough  for  a  Sicilian. 

A.  What  opinion  ?  for  I  do  not  recollect  it. 

M.  I  will  tell  you  if  I  can  in  Latin ;  for  you  know  I  am 
no  more  used  to  bring  in  Latin  sentences  in  a  Greek  dis- 
course than  Greek  in  a  Latin  one. 

A.  And  that  is  right  enough.  But  what  is  that  opinion 
of  Epicharmus  ? 

]\£,  I  would  not  die,  but  yet 

Am  not  concerned  that  I  shall  be  dead. 

A.  I    now   recollect  the    Greek ;    but   since   you    have 

^  Epicharmus  was  a  native  of  Cos,  but  lived  at  Megara,  in  Sicily,  and 
when  Megara  was  destroyed,  removed  to  Syracuse,  and  lived  at  tiie  court 
of  Hiero,  where  he  became  tlie  first  writer  of  comedies,  so  that  Horace 
ascribes  tlie  invention  of  comedy  to  him,  and  so  does  Theocritus.  He 
lived  to  a  great  age. 


la  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

obliged  me  to  grant  that  the  dead  are  not  miserable,  pro- 
ceed to  convince  me  that  it  is  not  miserable  to  be  under  a 
necessity  of  dying. 

M.  That  is  easy  enough ;  but  I  have  greater  things  in 
hand. 

A.  How  comes  that  to  be  so  easy  ?  And  what  are  those 
things  of  more  consequence? 

31.  Thus :  because,  if  there  is  no  evil  after  death,  then 
even  death  itself  can  be  none ;  for  that  which  immediately 
succeeds  that  is  a  state  where  you  grant  that  there  is  no 
evil :  so  that  even  to  be  obliged  to  die  can  be  no  evil,  for 
that  is  only  the  being  obliged  to  arrive  at  a  place  where 
we  allow  that  no  evil  is. 

A.  I  beg  you  will  be  more  explicit  on  this  point,  for 
these  subtle  arguments  force  me  sooner  to  admissions  than 
to  conviction.  But  what  are  those  more  important  things 
about  which  you  say  that  you  are  occupied  ? 

M.  To  teach  you,  if  I  can,  that  death  is  not  only  no 
evil,  but  a  good. 

A.  I  do  not  insist  on  that,  but  should  be  glad  to  hear 
you  argue  it,  for  even  though  you  should  not  prove  your 
point,  yet  you  will  prove  that  death  is  no  evil.  But  I  will 
not  interrupt  you;  I  would  rather  hear  a  continued  dis- 
course. 

31.  What,  if  I  should  ask  you  a  question,  would  you  not 
answer? 

A.  That  would  look  like  pride ;  but  I  would  rather  you 
should  not  ask  but  where  necessity  requires. 

IX.  3£.  I  will  comply  with  your  wishes,  and  explain  as 
well  as  I  can  what  you  require;  but  not  with  any  idea 
that,  like  the  Pythian  Apollo,  what  I  say  must  needs  be 
certain  and  indisputable,  but  as  a  mere  man,  endeavoring 
to  arrive  at  probabilities  by  conjecture,  for  I  have  no 
ground  to  proceed  further  on  than  probability.  Those 
men  may  call  their  statements  indisputable  who  assert  that 
what  they  say  can  be  perceived  by  the  senses,  and  who 
proclaim  themselves  philosophers  by  profession. 

A.  Do  as  you  please :  we  are  ready  to  hear  you. 

31.  The  first  thing,  then,  is  to  inquire  what  death,  which 
seems  to  be  so  well  understood,  really  is;  for  some  imag- 
ine death  to  be  the  departure  of  the  soul  from  the  body,* 


ON   THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  iV 

otliers  think  that  there  is  no  sucli  departure,  but  that  soul 
and  body  perish  together,  and  that  the  soul  is  extinguished 
with  the  body.  Of  those  who  think  that  the  soul  does  de- 
part from  the  body,  some  believe  in  its  immediate  disso- 
lution ;  otliers  fancy  that  it  continues  to  exist  for  a  time ; 
and  otliers  believe  that  it  lasts  forever.  There  is  great 
dispute  even  what  the  soul  is,  where  it  is,  and  whence  it 
is  derived  :  with  some,  the  heart  itself  (cor)  seems  to  be 
the  soul,  hence  the  expressions,  excordes^  vecordes,  Con- 
cordes;  and  that  prudent  Nasica,  who  was  twice  consul, 
was  called  Corculus,  ^.  e.,  wise-heart;  and  ^lius  Sextus  is 
described  as  Egregie  cordatus  homo,  catiis  yEliu'  Sextus 
— that  great  wise-hearted  man,  sage  ^lius.  Empedocles 
imagines  the  blood,  which  is  suffused  over  the  heart,  to 
be  the  soul ;  to  others,  a  certain  part  of  the  brain  seems 
to  be  the  throne  of  the  soul ;  others  neither  allow  the  heart 
itself,  nor  any  portion  of  the  brain,  to  be  the  soul,  but 
think  either  that  the  heart  is  the  seat  and  abode  of  the 
soul,  or  else  that  the  brain  is  so.  Some  would  have  the 
soul,  or  spirit,  to  be  the  anima,  as  our  schools  generally 
agree ;  and  indeed  the  name  signifies  as  much,  for  we  use 
the  expressions  cmimam  agere,  to  live ;  animam,  efflare,  to 
expire ;  animosi,  men  of  spirit ;  bene  cmitJiati,  men  of  right 
feeling ;  exanimi  sententia,  according  to  our  real  opinion ; 
and  the  very  word  animus  is  derived  from  anima.  Again, 
the  soul  seems  to  Zeno  the  Stoic  to  be  fire. 

X.  But  what  I  have  said  as  to  the  heart,  the  blood,  the 
brain,  air,  or  lire  being  the  soul,  are  common  opinions :  the 
others  are  only  entertained  by  individuals;  and,  indeed, 
there  w^ere  many  among  the  ancients  who  held  singular 
opinions  on  this  subject,  of  whom  the  latest  was  Aristoxe- 
nus,  a  man  who  was  both  a  musician  and  a  philosopher. 
He  maintained  a  certain  straining  of  the  body,  like  what  is 
called  harmony  in  music,  to  be  the  soul,  and  believed  that, 
from  the  figure  and  nature  of  the  whole  body,  various  mo- 
tions are  excited,  as  sounds  are  from  an  instrument.  He 
adhered  steadily  to  his  system,  and  yet  he  said  something, 
the  nature  of  which,  whatever  it  was,  had  been  detailed 
and  explained  a  great  while  before  by  Plato.  Xenocrates 
denied  that  the  soul  had  any  figure,  or  anything  like  a 
body ;  but  said  it  was  a  numbei",  the  power  of  which,  as 


18  THE  TUSCULAN  DISrUTATIONS. 

Pythagoras  had  fancied,  some  ages  before,  was  the  great 
est  in  nature :  his  master,  Plato,  imagined  a  threefold  soul, 
a  dominant  portion  of  which — that  is  to  say,  reason — he  had 
lodged  in  the  head,  as  in  a  tower ;  and  the  other  two  j^arts 
— namely,  anger  and  desire — he  made  subservient  to  this 
one,  and  allotted  them  distinct  abodes,  placing  anger  in  the 
breast,  and  desire  under  the  prtecordia.  But  Dicoearchus, 
in  that  discourse  of  some  learned  disputants,  held  at  Cor- 
inth, which  he  details  to  ns  in  three  books — in  the  first 
book  introduces  many  speakers ;  and  in  the  other  two  he 
introduces  a  certain  Pherecrates,  an  old  man  of  Phthia, 
who,  as  he  said,  was  descended  from  Deucalion  ;  asserting, 
that  there  is  in  fact  no  such  thing  at  all  as  a  soul,  but 
that  it  is  a  name  without  a  meaning ;  and  that  it  is  idle  to 
use  the  expression  "animals,"  or  "animated  beings;"  that 
neither  men  nor  beasts  have  minds  or  souls,  but  that  all 
that  power  by  which  we  act  or  perceive  is  equally  infused 
into  every  living  creature,  and  is  inseparable  from  the  body, 
for  if  it  were  not,  it  would  be  nothing;  nor  is  there  any- 
thing whatever  really  existing  except  body,  which  is  a 
single  and  simple  thing,  so  fashioned  as  to  live  and  have 
its  sensations  in  consequence  of  the  regulations  of  nature. 
Aristotle,  a  man  superior  to  all  others,  both  in  genius  and 
industry  (I  always  except  Plato),  after  having  embraced 
these  four  known  sorts  of  principles,  from  which  all  things 
deduce  their  origin,  imagines  that  there  is  a  certain  fifth 
nature,  from  whence  comes  the  soul ;  for  to  think,  to  fore- 
see, to  learn,  to  teach,  to  invent  anything,  and  many  other 
attributes  of  the  same  kind,  such  as  to  remember,  to  love, 
to  hate,  to  desire,  to  fear,  to  be  pleased  or  displeased — 
these,  and  others  like  them,  exist,  he  thinks,  in  none  of 
those  first  four  kinds:  on  such  account  he  adds  a  fifth 
kind,  which  has  no  name,  and  so  by  a  new  name  he  calls 
the  soul  h'hXexsia,  as  if  it  were  a  certain  continued  and 
perpetual  motion. 

XL  If  I  have  not  forgotten  anything  unintentionally, 
these  are  the  principal  opinions  concerning  the  soul.  I 
have  omitted  Democritus,  a  very  great  man  indeed,  but 
one  who  deduces  the  soul  from  the  fortuitous  concourse 
of  small,  light,  and  round  substances ;  for,  if  you  believe 
men  of  his  school,  tliere  is  nothing  which  a  crowd  of  atoms 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  23 

cients  for  instances,  so  might  I  myself.  But,  somehow  or 
other,  there  clings  to  our  minds  a  certain  presage  of  future 
ages ;  and  this  both  exists  most  firmly,  and  appears  most 
clearly,  in  men  of  the  loftiest  genius  and  greatest  souls. 
Take  away  this,  and  who  would  be  so  mad  as  to  spend  his 
life  amidst  toils  and  dangers  ?  I  speak  of  those  in  power. 
What  are  the  poet's  views  but  to  be  ennobled  after  death  ? 
What  else  is  the  object  of  these  lines. 

Behold  old  Ennius  here,  who  erst 
Thy  fothers'  great  exploits  rehearsed  ? 

He  is  challenging  the  reward  of  glory  from  those  men 
whose  ancestors  he  himself  had  ennobled  by  his  poetry. 
And  in  the  same  spirit  he  says,  in  another  passage, 

Let  none  with  tears  my  funeral  grace,  for  I 
Claim  from  my  works  an  immortality. 

Why  do  I  mention  poets?  The  very  mechanics  are  de- 
sirous of  fame  after  death.  Why  did  Phidias  include  a 
likeness  of  himself  in  the  shield  of  Minerva,  when  he  was 
not  allowed  to  inscribe  his  name  on  it?  What  do  our 
philosophers  think  on  the  subject?  Do  not  they  put  their 
names  to  those  very  books  which  they  write  on  the  con- 
tempt of  glory  ?  If,  then,  universal  consent  is  the  voice 
of  nature,  and  if  it  is  the  general  opinion  everywhere  that 
those  who  have  quitted  this  life  are  still  interested  in 
something,  we  also  must  subscribe  to  that  opinion.  And 
if  we  think  that  men  of  the  greatest  abilities  and  virtues 
see  most  clearly  into  the  power  of  nature,  because  they 
themselves  are  her  most  perfect  work,  it  is  very  probable 
that,  as  every  great  man  is  especially  anxious  to  benefit 
posterity,  there  is  something  of  which  he  himself  will  be 
sensible  after  death. 

XVI.  But  as  we  are  led  by  nature  to  think  there  are 
Gods,  and  as  we  discover,  by  reason,  of  what  description 
they  are,  so,  by  the  consent  of  all  nations,  we  are  induced 
to  believe  that  our  souls  survive;  but  where  their  habita- 
tion is,  and  of  what  character  they  eventually  are,  must  be 
learned  from  reason.  The  want  of  any  certain  reason  on 
which  to  argue  has  given  rise  to  the  idea  of  the  shades 
below,  and  to  those  fears  which  you  seem,  not  without 


24  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

reason,  to  despise ;  for  as  our  bodies  fall  to  the  ground, 
and  are  covered  with  earth  {humus),  from  whence  we  de- 
rive the  expression  to  be  interred  {humari),  that  has  oc- 
casioned men  to  imagine  that  the  dead  continue,  during 
the  remainder  of  their  existence,  under  ground;  which 
opinion  has  drawn  after  it  many  errors,  which  the  poets 
have  increased;  for  the  theatre,  being  frequented  by  a 
large  crowd,  among  which  are  women  and  children,  is 
wont  to  be  greatly  affected  on  hearing  such  pompous 
verses  as  these, 

Lo !  here  I  am,  who  scarce  could  gain  this  place, 
Through  stony  mountains  and  a  dreary  waste ; 
Through  cliffs,  whose  sharpen'd  stones  tremendous  hung, 
Where  dreadful  darkness  spread  itself  around. 

And  the  error  prevailed  so  much,  though  indeed  at  pres- 
ent it  seems  to  me  to  be  removed,  that  although  men 
knew  that  the  bodies  of  the  dead  had  been  burned,  yet 
they  conceived  such  things  to  be  done  in  the  infernal  re- 
gions as  could  not  be  executed  or  imagined  without  a 
body ;  for  they  could  not  conceive  how  disembodied  souls 
could  exist;  and,  therefore,  they  looked  out  for  some  shape 
or  figure.  This  was  the  origin  of  all  that  account  of  the 
dead  in  Homer.  This  was  the  idea  that  caused  my  friend 
Appius  to  frame  his  Necromancy;  and  this  is  how  there 
got  about  that  idea  of  the  lake  of  Avernus,  in  my  neighbor- 
hood, 

From  whence  the  souls  of  undistinguish'd  shape, 
Clad  in  thick  shade,  rush  from  the  open  gate 
Of  Acheron,  vain  phantoms  of  the  dead. 

And  they  must  needs  have  these  appearances  speak,  which 
is  not  possible  without  a  tongue,  and  a  palate,  and  jaws, 
and  without  the  help  of  lungs  and  sides,  and  without  some 
shape  or  figure ;  for  they  could  see  nothing  by  their  mind 
alone — they  referred  all  to  their  eyes.  To  witlidraw  the 
mind  from  sensual  objects,  and  abstract  our  thoughts  from 
what  we  are  accustomed  to,  is  an  attribute  of  great  gen- 
ius. I  am  persuaded,  indeed,  that  there  were  many  such 
men  in  former  ages;  but  Pherecydes'  the  Syrian  is  the 

'  rherecydes  was  a  native  of  Scyros,  one  of  the  Cyclades ;   and  is 
said  to  have  obtained  his  knowledge  from  the  secret  books  of  tiie  Phoe- 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        25 

first  oil  record  who  said  that  the  souls  of  men  were  iiii- 
iiiortal,  and  he  was  a  philosopher  of  great  antiquity,  in  the 
reign  of  my  namesake  TuUius.  His  disciple  Pythagoras 
greatly  confirmed  this  opinion,  who  came  into  Italy  in  the 
reign  of  Tarquin  the  Proud ;  and  all  that  country  which 
is  called  Great  Greece  was  occupied  by  his  school,  and  lie 
himself  was  held  in  high  honor,  and  had  the  greatest  au- 
thority ;  and  the  Pythagorean  sect  was  for  many  ages  af- 
ter in  such  great  credit,  that  all  learning  was  believed  to 
be  confined  to  that  name. 

XVII.  But  I  return  to  the  ancients.  They  scarcely 
ever  gave  any  reason  for  their  opinion  but  wiiat  could  be 
explained  by  numbers  or  definitions.  It  is  reported  of 
Plato  that  he  came  into  Italy  to  make  himself  acquaint- 
ed with  the  Pythagoreans ;  and  that  when  there,  among 
others,  he  made  an  acquaintance  with  Archytas^  and  Ti- 
ma3us,^  and  learned  from  them  all  the  tenets  of  the  Py- 
thagoreans; and  that  he  not  only  was  of  the  same  opinion 
with  Pythagoras  concerning  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
but  that  he  also  brought  reasons  in  support  of  it;  which, 
if  you  have  nothing  to  say  against  it,  I  will  pass  over,  and 
say  no  more  at  present  about  all  this  hope  of  immortality. 

A.  What,  will  you  leave  me  when  you  have  raised  my 
expectations  so  high  ?  I  had  rather,  so  help  me  Hercules  ! 
be  mistaken  with  Plato,  whom  I  know  how  much  you  es- 
teem, and  whom  I  admire  myself,  from  what  you  say  of 
him,  than  be  in  the  right  with  those  others. 

nicians.  He  is  said  also  to  liave  been  a  pupil  of  Pittacns,  the  rival  of 
Thales,  and  the  master  of  Pythagoras,  His  doctrine  was  that  there  were 
three  principles  (Ztvg,  or  iEUier  ;  XOwi',  or  Chaos;  and  Xpovog,  or  Time) 
and  four  elements  (Eire,  Earth,  Air,  and  Water),  from  which  everything 
that  exists  was  formed. —  Vide  Smith's  Diet.  Gr.  and  Rom.  Eiog. 

^  Archytas  was  a  native  of  Tarentum,  and  is  said  to  liave  saved  the  life 
of  Plato  by  his  influence  with  the  tyrant  Dionysius,  He  Avac  especially 
great  as  a  mathematician  and  geometrician,  so  that  Horace  calls  him 

Maris  et  terras  numeroque  careutis  arense 
Meusorem.  Od.  i.  2S.  1. 

Plato  is  supposed  to  have  learned  some  of  his  views  from  him,  and 
Aristotle  to  have  borrowed  from  him  every  idea  of  the  Categories. 

^  This  was  not  Timaius  the  historian,  but  a  native  of  Locri,  who  is 
said  also  in  the  De  Einibus  (c.  29)  to  have  been  a  teacher  of  Plato. 
There  is  a  treatise  extant  bearing  his  name,  which  is,  however,  proba- 
bly spurious,  and  only  an  abridgment  of  Plato's  dialogue  Tiraajus. 

2 


26  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

31.  I  commend  you  ;  for,  indeed,!  could  myself  willing. 
ly  be  mistaken  in  his  company.  Do  we,  then,  doubt,  as 
we  do  in  other  cases  (though  I  think  here  is  very  little 
room  for  doubt  in  this  case,  for  the  mathematicians  prove 
the  facts  to  us),  that  the  earth  is  placed  in  the  midst  of 
the  world,  being,  as  it  were,  a  sort  of  point,  which  they  call 
a  KEvrpov,  surrounded  by  the  whole  heavens ;  and  that 
such  is  the  nature  of  the  four  principles  which  are  the 
generating  causes  of  all  things,  that  they  have  equally  di- 
vided among  them  the  constituents  of  all  bodies;  more- 
over, that  earthy  and  humid  bodies  are  carried  at  equal 
angles  by  their  own  weight  and  ponderosity  into  tlie 
earth  and  sea;  that  the  other  two  parts  consist,  one  of 
fire,  and  the  other  of  air?  As  the  two  former  are  carried 
by  their  gravity  and  weigiit  into  the  middle  region  of  the 
world,  so  these,  on  the  other  hand,  ascend  by  right  lines 
into  the  celestial  regions,  either  because,  owing  to  their 
intrinsic  natui'e,  they  are  always  endeavoring  to  reach  the 
highest  place,  or  else  because  lighter  bodies  are  naturally 
repelled  by  heavier;  and  as  this  is  notoriously  the  case, 
it  must  evidently  follow  that  souls,  when  once  they  have 
departed  from  the  body,  whether  they  are  animal  (by 
which  term  I  mean  capable  of  breathing)  or  of  the  nature 
of  fire,  must  mount  upward.  But  if  the  soul  is  some 
number,  as  some  people  assert,  speaking  with  more  sub- 
tlety than  clearness,  or  if  it  is  that  fifth  nature,  for  which 
it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  we  have  not  given  a 
name  to  than  that  we  do  not  correctly  understand  it — still 
it  is  too  pure  and  perfect  not  to  go  to  a  great  distance  from 
the  earth.  Something  of  this  sort,  then,  Ave  must  believe 
the  soul  to  be,  that  we  may  not  commit  the  folly  of  think- 
ing that  so  active  a  principle  lies  immerged  in  the  heart 
or  brain  ;  or,  as  Empedocles  would  have  it,  in  the  blood. 

XVIII.  We  will  pass  over  Dicaarchus,^  with  his  con- 
temporary and  fellow-disciple  Aristoxenus,^  both  indeed 

'  Dicaearchus  was  a  native  of  Messana,  in  Sicily,  thongli  he  lived  chief- 
ly in  Greece.  He  was  one  of  the  later  disciples  of  Aristotle.  He  was  a 
great  geographer,  politician,  historian,  and  philosopher,  and  died  about 
L'.Sr,  i5.<-. 

^  Aristoxenns  was  a  native  of  Tarentnm,  and  also  a  pu])il  of  Aristo- 
tle.    We  know  nothing  of  his  opinions  except  that  he  held  the  soul  to 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        27 

men  of  learning.  One  of  them  seems  never  even  to  have 
been  affected  with  grief,  as  he  could  not  perceive  that  he 
had  a  soul ;  while  the  other  is  so  pleased  with  his  musical 
compositions  that  he  endeavors  to  show  an  analogy  be- 
twixt them  and  souls.  Now,  we  may  understand  har- 
mony to  arise  from  the  intervals  of  sounds,  whose  various 
compositions  occasion  many  harmonies ;  but  I  do  not  see 
how  a  disposition  of  members,  and  the  figure  of  a  body 
Avithout  a  soul,  can  occasion  harmony.  He  had  better, 
learned  as  he  is,  leave  these  speculations  to  his  master 
Aristotle,  and  follow  his  own  trade  as  a  musician.  Good 
advice  is  given  him  in  that  Greek  proverb, 

Apply  your  talents  where  you  best  are  skill'd. 

I  will  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  Avith  that  fortuitous  con- 
course of  individual  light  and  round  bodies,  notwithstand- 
ino-  Democritus  insists  on  their  beins:  warm  and  havingj 
breath,  that  is  to  say,  life.  But  this  soul,  which  is  com- 
pounded of  either  of  the  four  principles  from  which  we 
assert  that  all  things  are  derived,  is  of  inflamed  air,  as 
seems  particularly  to  have  been  the  opinion  of  Pansetius, 
and  must  necessarily  mount  upw^ard ;  for  air  and  fire  have 
no  tendency  downward,  but  always  ascend;  so  should 
they  be  dissipatecL  that  must  be  at  some  distance  from 
the  earth ;  but  should  they  remain,  and  preserve  their 
original  state,  it  is  clearer  still  that  tliey  must  be  carried 
heavenward,  and  this  gross  and  concrete  air,  which  is 
nearest  the  earth,  must  be  divided  and  broken  by  them ; 
for  the  soul  is  warmer,  or  rather  hotter,  than  that  air,  which 
I  just  now  called  gross  and  concrete:  and  this  may  be 
made  evident  from  this  consideration — that  our  bodies,  be- 
ing compounded  of  the  earthy  class  of  principles,  grow^ 
warm  by  the  heat  of  the  soul. 

XIX.  We  may  add,  that  the  soul  can  the  more  easily 
escape  from  this  air,  which  I  have  often  named,  and  break 

be  a  harmony  of  the  body ;  a  doctrine  which  had  been  already  discussed 
by  Plato  in  the  Phrcdo,  and  combated  by  Aristotle.  He  was  a  great 
musician,  and  the  chief  portions  of  his  works  which  have  come  down 
to  us  are  fragments  of  some  musical  treatises. — Smith's  Diet.  Gr.  and 
Kom.  Biog. ;  to  which  source  I  must  acknowledge  my  obligation  for 
nearly  the  wiiole  of  these  biographical  notes. 


28  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

through  it,  because  nothing  is  swifter  than  tlie  soul;  no 
swiftness  is  comparable  to  the  swiftness  of  the  soul, 
which,  should  it  remain  uncorrupt  and  without  alteration, 
must  necessarily  be  carried  on  with  such  velocity  as  to 
penetrate  and  divide  all  tliis  atmosphere,  where  clouds, 
and  rain,  and  winds  are  formed,  which,  in  consequence  of 
the  exhalations  from  the  earth,  is  moist  and  dark :  but, 
when  the  soul  has  once  got  above  this  region,  and  falls  in 
with,  and  recognizes,  a  nature  like  its  own,  it  then  rests 
upon  fires  composed  of  a  combination  of  thin  air  and  a 
moderate  solar  heat,  and  does  not  aim  at  any  higher 
flight;  for  then,  after  it  has  attained  a  lightness  and  heat 
resembling  its  own,  it  moves  no  more,  but  remains  steady, 
being  balanced,  as  it  were,  between  two  equal  weights. 
That,  then,  is  its  natural  scat  where  it  has  penetrated  to 
something  like  itself,  and  where,  wanting  nothing  furthei', 
it  may  be  supported  and  maintained  by  the  same  aliment 
M'hich  nourishes  and  maintains  the  stars. 

Now,  as  we  are  usually  incited  to  all  sorts  of  desires  by 
the  stimulus  of  the  body,  and  the  more  so  as  we  endeavor 
to  rival  those  who  are  in  possession  of  what  we  long  for, 
we  shall  certainly  be  happy  when,  being  emancipated  from 
that  body,  we  at  the  same  time  get  rid  of  these  desires 
and  this  rivalry.  And  that  which  we  do  at  present, 
when,  dismissing  all  other  cares,  we  curiously  examine 
and  look  into  anything,  we  shall  then  do  with  greater  free- 
dom ;  and  we  shall  employ  ourselves  entirely  in  the  con- 
templation and  examination  of  things ;  because  there  is 
naturally  in  our  minds  a  certain  insatiable  desire  to  know 
the  truth,  and  the  very  region  itself  where  we  shall  arrive, 
as  it  gives  us  a  more  intuitive  and  easy  knowledge  of  ce- 
lestial things,  will  raise  our  desires  after  knowledge.  For 
it  was  this  beauty  of  the  heavens,  as  seen  even  here  upon 
earth,  which  gave  birth  to  that  national  and  hereditary 
philosophy  (as  Theophrastus  calls  it),  which  was  thus  ex- 
cited to  a  desire  of  knowledge.  But  those  persons  will  in 
a  most  especial  degree  enjoy  this  philosophy,  who,  while 
they  w^ere  only  inhabitants  of  this  woiid  and  enveloped  in 
darkness,  were  still  desirous  of  looking  into  these  things 
with  the  eye  of  their  mind. 

XX.  For  if  those  men  now  think  that  they  have  attain- 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        29 

ed  something  who  have  seen  the  mouth  of  the  Pontus, 
and  those  straits  which  were  passed  by  the  ship  called 
Argo,  because, 

From  Argos  she  did  chosen  men  convey, 

Bound  to  fetch  back  the  Golden  Fleece,  their  prey ; 

or  those  wlio  have  seen  the  straits  of  the  ocean, 

Where  the  swift  waves  divide  the  neighboring  shores 
Of  Europe,  and  of  Afric ; 

what  kind  of  sight  do  you  imagine  that  will  be  when  the 
wdiole  earth  is  laid  open  to  our  view?  and  that,  too,  not 
only  in  its  position,  form,  and  boundaries,  nor  those  parts 
of  it  only  which  are  habitable,  but  those  also  that  lie  un- 
cultivated, through  the  extremities  of  heat  and  cold  to 
which  they  are  exposed ;  for  not  even  now  is  it  with  our 
eyes  that  we  view  what  we  see,  for  the  body  itself  has  no 
senses  ;  but  (as  the  naturalists,  ay,  and  even  the  physicians 
assure  us,  who  have  opened  our  bodies,  and  examined 
them)  there  are  certain  perforated  channels  from  the  seat 
of  the  soul  to  the  eyes,  ears,  and  nose ;  so  that  frequently, 
when  either  prevented  by  meditation,  or  the  force  of  some 
bodily  disorder,  Ave  neither  hear  nor  see,  though  our  eyes 
and  ears  are  open  and  in  good  condition ;  so  that  we  may 
easily  apprehend  that  it  is  the  soul  itself  which  sees  and 
hears,  and  not  those  parts  which  are,  as  it  were,  but  win- 
dows to  the  soul,  by  means  of  which,  however,  she  can 
perceive  nothing,  unless  she  is  on  the  spot,  and  exerts  her- 
self. How  shaU  we  account  for  tlie  fact  that  by  the  same 
power  of  thinking  we  comprehend  the  most  different 
things — as  color,  taste,  heat,  smell,  and  sound — which  the 
soul  could  never  know  by  her  five  messengers,  unless  every 
thing  were  referred  to  her,  and  she  were  the  sole  judge  of 
all?  And  we  shall  certainly  discover  these  things  in  a 
more  clear  and  perfect  degree  when  the  soul  is  disengaged 
from  the  body,  and  has  arrived  at  that  goal  to  which  nnt- 
nre  leads  her;  for  at  present,  notwithstanding  nature  has 
contrived,  with  the  greatest  skill,  those  channels  which 
lead  from  the  body  to  the  soul,  yet  are  they,  in  some  way 
or  other,  stopped  up  with  earthy  and  concrete  bodies ;  but 
wlien  we  sliall  be  nothing  but  soul,  then  nothing  will  inter- 


30  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

fere  to  prevent  our  seeing  everything  in  its  real  substance 
and  in  its  true  cliaracter. 

XXI.  It  is  true,  I  might  expatiate,  did  tlie  subject  re- 
quire it,  on  the  many  and  vaiious  objects  witli  whicli  th.e 
soul  will  be  entertained  in  those  heavenly  regions;  wlien  I 
reflect  on  which,  I  am  apt  to  wonder  at  the  boldness  of 
some  philosophers,  who  are  so  struck  with  admiration  at 
the  knowledge  of  nature  as  to  thank,  in  an  exulting  man- 
ner, the  first  inventor  and  teacher  of  natural  philosophy, 
and  to  reverence  him  as  a  God  ;  for  they  declare  that  they 
have  been  delivered  by  his  means  from  the  greatest  tyrants, 
a  perpetual  terror,  and  a  fear  that  molested  them  by  night 
and  day.  What  is  this  dread — this  fear?  What  old 
woman  is  there  so  weak  as  to  fear  these  things,  which  you, 
forsooth,  had  you  not  been  acquainted  with  natural  philos- 
oi)hj,  w^ould  stand  in  aw^e  of? 

The  liallow'd  roofs  of  Acheron,  the  dread 
Of  Orcus,  the  pale  regions  of  the  dead. 

And  does  it  become  a  philosopher  to  boast  that  he  is  not 
afraid  of  these  things,  and  that  he  has  discovered  them  to 
be  false  ?  And  from  this  we  may  perceive  how  acute  these 
men  were  by  nature,  who,  if  they  had  been  left  without 
any  instruction,  would  have  believed  in  these  things.  But 
now  they  have  certainly  made  a  very  fine  acquisition  in 
learning  that  when  the  day  of  their  death  arrives,  they 
will  perish  entirely.  And,  if  that  really  is  the  case — for  I 
say  nothing  either  way — what  is  there  agreeable  or  glori- 
ous in  it?  Not  that  I  see  any  reason  why  the  opinion  of 
Pythagoras  and  Plato  may  not  be  true ;  but  even  although 
Plato  were  to  have  assigned  no  reason  for  his  opinion  (ob- 
serve how^  much  I  esteem  the  man),  the  weight  of  his  au- 
thority would  have  borne  me  down;  but  he  has  brought 
so  many  reasons,  that  he  appears  to  me  to  have  endeav- 
ored to  convince  others,  and  certainly  to  have  convinced 
himself. 

XXII.  But  there  are  many  who  labor  on  the  other  side 
of  the  question,  and  condemn  souls  to  death,  as  if  they 
were  criminals  capitally  convicted ;  nor  have  they  any 
other  reason  to  allege  why  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ap- 
pears to  them  to  be  incredible,  except  that  they  are  not 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        31 

able  to  conceivG  what  sort  of  thing  the  soul  can  be  when 
disentangled  from  the  body;  just  as  if  they  could  really 
form  a  correct  idea  as  to  what  sort  of  thing  it  is,  even 
when  it  is  in  the  body;  what  its  form,  and  size,  and 
abode  are;  so  that  were  they  able  to  have  a  full  view  of 
all  that  is  now  hidden  from  them  in  a  living  body,  they 
have  no  idea  whether  the  soul  would  be  discernible  by 
them,  or  whether  it  is  of  so  fine  a  texture  that  it  would 
escape  their  sight.  Let  those  consider  this,  who  say  that 
they  are  unable  to  form  any  idea  of  the  soul  without  the 
body,  and  then  they  will  see  whether  they  can  form  any 
adequate  idea  of  what  it  is  when  it  is  in  the  body.  For 
my  own  part,  when  I  reflect  on  the  nature  of  the  soul,  it 
appears  to  me  a  far  more  perplexing  and  obscure  question 
to  determine  what  is  its  character  while  it  is  in  the  body 
— a  place  which,  as  it  were,  does  not  belong  to  it — than  to 
imagine  what  it  is  when  it  leaves  it,  and  has  arrived  at 
the  free  aather,  which  is,  if  I  may  so  say,  its  proper,  its 
own  habitation.  For  unless  we  are  to  say  that  we  cannot 
apprehend  the  character  or  nature  of  anything  which  we 
have  never  seen,  we  certainly  may  be  able  to  form  some 
notion  of  God,  and  of  the  divine  soul  when  released  from 
the  body.  Dicaearchus,  indeed,  and  Aristoxenus,  because 
it  was  hard  to  understand  the  existence  and  substance 
and  nature  of  the  soul,  asserted  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  a  soul  at  all.  It  is,  indeed,  the  most  difficult 
thing  imaginable  to  discern  the  soul  by  the  soul.  And 
this,  doubtless,  is  the  meaning  of  the  precept  of  Apollo, 
which  advises  every  one  to  know  himself.  For  I  do  not 
apprehend  the  meaning  of  the  God  to  have  been  that  we 
should  understand  our  members,  our  stature,  and  form ; 
for  we  are  not  merely  bodies  ;  nor,  when  I  say  these  things 
t)  you,  am  I  addressing  myself  to  your  body :  when,  there- 
fore, he  says,  "Know  yourself,"  he  says  this,  "Inform 
yourself  of  the  nature  of  your  soul ;"  for  the  body  is  but 
a  kind  of  vessel,  or  receptacle  of  the  soul,  and  whatever 
your  soul  does  is  your  own  act.  To  know  the  soul,  then, 
unless  it  had  been  divine,  would  not  have  been  a  precept 
of  such  excellent  wisdom  as  to  be  attributed  to  a  God ;  but 
even  though  the  soul  should  not  know  of  what  nature  it- 
self is,  will  you  say  that  it  does  not  even  perceive  that  it 


32  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

exists  at  all,  or  that  it  bas  motion  ?  On  which  is  founded 
that  reason  of  Plato's,  which  is  explained  by  Socrates  in 
the  Pha3drus,  and  inserted  by  me,  in  my  sixth  book  of  the 
Republic. 

XXIII.  "  That  which  is  always  moved  is  eternal ;  but 
that  which  gives  motion  to  something  else,  and  is  moved 
itfself  by  some  external  cause,  when  that  motion  ceases, 
must  necessarily  cease  to  exist.  That,  therefore,  alone, 
which  is  self-moved,  because  it  is  never  foi'saken  by  itself, 
can  never  cease  to  be  moved.  Besides,  it  is  the  beginning 
and  principle  of  motion  to  everything  else ;  but  whatever 
is  a  principle  has  no  beginning,  for  all  things  arise  from 
that  principle,  and  it  cannot  itself  owe  its  rise  to  anything 
else;  for  then  it  would  not  be  a  principle  did  it  proceed 
from  anything  else.  But  if  it  has  no  beginning,  it  never 
will  have  any  end;  for  a  principle  which  is  once  extin- 
guished cannot  itself  be  restored  by  anything  else,  nor 
can  it  produce  anything  else  from  itself;  inasmuch  as  all 
things  must  necessarily  arise  from  some  first  cause.  And 
thus  it  comes  about  that  the  first  principle  of  motion 
must  arise  from  that  thing  which  is  itself  moved  by  itself; 
and  that  can  neither  have  a  beginning  nor  an  end  of  its 
existence,  for  otherwise  the  whole  heaven  and  earth  would 
be  overset,  and  all  nature  would  stand  still,  and  not  be 
able  to  acquire  any  force  by  the  impulse  of  which  it 
might  be  first  set  in  motion.  Seeing,  then,  that  it  is  clear 
that  whatever  moves  itself  is  eternal,  can  there  be  any 
doubt  that  the  soul  is  so?  For  everything  is  inanimate 
which  is  moved  by  an  external  force ;  but  everything 
which  is  animate  is  moved  by  an  interior  force,  which  also 
belongs  to  itself.  For  this  is  the  peculiar  nature  and 
power  of  the  soul ;  and  if  the  soul  be  the  only  thing  in 
the  whole  world  wliich  has  the  power  of  self-motion,  then 
certainly  it  never  had  a  beginning,  and  therefore  it  is 
eternal." 

Now,  should  all  the  lower  order  of  philosophers  (for  so 
I  think  they  may  be  called  who  dissent  from  Plato  and 
Socrates  and  that  school)  unite  their  force,  they  never 
would  be  able  to  explain  anything  so  elegantly  as  this, 
nor  even  to  understand  how  ingeniously  this  conclusion  is 
drawn.     The  soul,  then,  perceives  itself  to  have  motion, 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        33 

and,  at  the  same  time  that  it  gets  that  perception,  it  is 
sensible  that  it  derives  that  motion  from  its  own  power, 
and  not  from  tlie  agency  of  another;  and  it  is  impossible 
that  it  should  ever  forsake  itself.  And  these  premises 
compel  you  to  allow  its  eternity,  unless  you  have  some- 
thing to  say  against  them. 

A.  I  should  myself  be  very  well  pleased  not  to  have 
even  a  thought  arise  in  my  mind  against  them,  so  much 
am  I  inclined  to  that  opinion. 

XXIV.  31.  Well,  then,  I  appeal  to  you, if  the  arguments 
which  prove  that  there  is  something  divine  in  the  souls  of 
men  are  not  equally  strong?  But  if  I  could  account  for 
the  origin  of  these  divine  properties,  then  I  might  also 
be  able  to  explain  how  they  might  cease  to  exist;  for  I 
think  I  can  account  for  the  manner  in  which  the  blood, 
and  bile,  and  phlegm,  and  bones,  and  nerves,  and  veins,  and 
all  the  limbs,  and  the  shape  of  the  whole  body,  were  put 
together  and  made;  ay,  and  even  as  to  the  soul  itself,  were 
there  nothing  more  in  it  than  a  principle  of  life,  then  the 
life  of  a  man  might  be  put  upon  the  same  footing  as  that 
of  a  vine  or  any  other  tree,  and  accounted  for  as  caused 
by  nature;  for  these  things,  as  we  say,  live.  Besides,  if 
desires  and  aversions  were  all  that  belonged  to  the  soul, 
it  would  have  them  only  in  common  with  the  beasts ;  but 
it  has,  in  the  first  place,  memory,  and  that,  too,  so  infinite 
as  to  recollect  an  absolute  countless  number  of  circum- 
stances, which  Plato  will  have  to  be  a  recollection  of  a 
former  life;  for  in  that  book  which  is  inscribed  Menon, 
Socrates  asks  a  child  some  questions  in  geometry,  with 
reference  to  measuring  a  square ;  his  answers  are  such  as 
a  child  would  make,  and  yet  the  questions  are  so  easy, 
that  while  answering  them,  one  by  one,  he  comes  to  the 
same  point  as  if  he  had  learned  geometry.  From  whence 
Socrates  would  infer  that  learning  is  nothing  more  than 
recollection ;  and  this  topic  he  explains  more  accurately 
in  the  discourse  ^s'hich  he  held  the  very  day  he  died ;  for 
he  there  asserts  that  any  one,  who  seeming  to  be  entirely 
illiterate,  is  yet  able  to  answer  a  question  well  that  is  pro- 
posed to  him,  does  in  so  doing  manifestly  show  that  he 
is  not  learning  it  tlien,  but  recollecting  it  by  his  memory. 
Nor  is  it  to  be  accounted  for  in  any  other  way,  how  chil- 


34  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

dren  come  to  have  notions  of  so  many  and  such  important 
things  as  are  implanted,  and,  as  it  were,  sealed  up,  in  their 
minds  (which  the  Greeks  call  h'voiai),  unless  the  soul,  be- 
fore it  entered  the  body,  had  been  well  stored  with  knowl- 
edge. And  as  it  had  no  existence  at  all  (for  this  is  the 
invariable  doctrine  of  Plato,  who  will  not  admit  anything 
to  have  a  real  existence  which  has  a  beginning  and  an 
end,  and  who  thinks  that  that  alone  does  really  exist  which 
is  of  such  a  character  as  what  he  calls  eidea,  and  we  species), 
therefore,  being  shut  up  in  the  body,  it  could  not  while  in 
the  body  discover  what  it  knows;  but  it  knew  it  before, 
and  brought  the  knowledge  with  it,  so  that  we  are  no 
longer  surprised  at  its  extensive  and  multifarious  knowl- 
edge. Nor  does  the  soul  clearly  discover  its  ideas  at  its 
iirst  resort  to  this  abode  to  which  it  is  so  unaccustomed, 
and  which  is  in  so  disturbed  a  state ;  but  after  having  re- 
freshed and  recollected  itself,  it  then  by  its  memory  re- 
covers them  ;  and,  therefore,  to  learn  implies  nothing  more 
than  to  recollect.  But  I  am  in  a  particular  manner  sur- 
prised at  memory.  For  what  is  that  faculty  by  which  we 
remember  ?  what  is  its  force  ?  what  its  nature  ?  I  am 
not  inquiring  how  great  a  memory  Simonides^  may  be 
said  to  have  had,  or  Theodectes,''  or  that  Cineas^  who  w\as 
sent  to  Rome  as  ambassador  from  Pyrrhus ;  or,  in  more 
modern  times,  Charraadas;"  or,  very  lately,  Metrodorus^ 

^  The  Simonides  here  meant  is  the  celebrated  poet  of  Ceos,  the  per- 
fecter  of  elegiac  poetry  among  the  Greeks.  He  flourished  about  the 
time  of  the  Persian  war.  Besides  his  poetry,  he  is  said  to  have  been  the 
inventor  of  some  method  of  aiding  the  memory.  He  died  at  the  court 
of  Hiero,  467  B.C. 

^  Theodectes  was  a  native  of  Phaselis,  in  Pamphylia,  a  distinguished 
rhetorician  and  tragic  poet,  and  flourished  in  the  time  of  Philip  of  Mac- 
edon.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Isocrates,  and  lived  at  Athens,  and  died  there 
at  the  age  of  forty-one. 

^  Cineas  was  a  Thessalian,  and  (as  is  said  in  the  text)  came  to  Rome 
as  ambassador  from  Pyrrhus  after  the  battle  of  Heraclea,  280  u.c,  and 
his  memory  is  said  to  have  been  so  great  that  on  the  day  after  his  an-i- 
val  he  was  able  to  address  all  the  senators  and  knights  by  name.  He 
probably  died  before  Pyrrhus  returned  to  Italy,  27G  b.c. 

*  Charmadas,  called  also  Charmides,  was  a  fellow-pupil  with  Philo, 
the  Larissncan  of  Clitomachus,  the  Carthaginian.  He  is  said  by  some 
authors  to  have  founded  a  fourth  academy. 

^  Metrodorus  was  a  minister  of  Mithridates  the  Great ;  and  employed 
by  him  as  supreme  judge  in  Pontus,  and  afterward  as  an  ambassador. 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT   OF  DEATH.  35 

the  Scepsian,  or  our  own  contemporary  Ilortensius  :^  I  am 
speaking  of  ordinary  memory,  and  especially  of  those  men 
who  are  employed  in  any  important  study  or  art,  the  great 
capacity  of  whose  minds  it  is  hard  to  estimate,  such  num- 
bers of  things  do  they  remember. 

XXV.  Should  you  ask  what  tliis  leads  to,  I  think  we 
may  understand  what  that  power  is,  and  whence  we  have 
it.  It  certainly  proceeds  neither  from  the  heart,  nor  from 
the  blood,  nor  from  the  brain,  nor  from  atoms;  whether 
it  be  air  or  fire,  I  know  not,  nor  am  I,  as  those  men  are, 
ashamed,  in  cases  where  I  am  ignorant,  to  own  that  I  am 
so.  If  in  any  other  obscure  matter  I  were  able  to  assert 
anything  positively,  then  I  would  swear  that  the  soul,  be 
it  air  or  fire,  is  divine.  Just  think,  I  beseech  you :  can 
you  imagine  this  wonderful  power  of  memory  to  be  sown 
in  or  to  be  a  part  of  the  composition  of  the  earth,  or  of 
this  dark  and  gloomy  atmosphere?  Though  you  cannot 
apprehend  what  it  is,  yet  you  see  what  kind  of  thing  it  is, 
or  if  you  do  not  quite  see  that,  yet  you  certainly  see  how 
great  it  is.  What, then?  Shall  we  imagine  that  there  is 
a  kind  of  measure  in  the  soul,  into  which,  as  into  a  vessel, 
all  that  we  remember  is  poured?  That  indeed  is  absurd; 
for  how  shall  we  form  any  idea  of  the  bottom,  or  of  the 
shape  or  fashion  of  such  a  soul  as  that?  And,  again,  how 
are  we  to  conceive  how  much  it  is  able  to  contain?  Shall 
we  imagine  the  soul  to  receive  impressions  like  wax,  and 
memory  to  be  marks  of  the  impressions  made  on  the  soul? 
What  are  the  characters  of  tlie  words,  what  of  the  facts 
themselves?  and  what,  again,  is  that  prodigious  greatness 
which  can  give  rise  to  impressions  of  so  many  things? 
What,  lastly,  is  that  power  which  investigates  secret 
things,  and  is  called  invention  and  contrivance?  Does 
that  man  seem  to  be  compounded  of  this  earthly,  mortal, 
and  perishing  nature  who  first  invented  names  for  every- 

Cicero  speaks  of  him  in  other  places  (De  Orat.  ii,  88)  as  a  man  of  won- 
derful memorv, 

^  Quintus  Hortensius  was  eight  years  older  than  Cicero ;  and,  till 
Cicero's  fame  surpassed  his,  he  w-as  accounted  the  most  eloquent  of  all 
the  Romans,  lie  was  Verres's  counsel  in  the  prosecution  conducted 
against  him  by  Cicero.  Seneca  relates  that  his  memory  was  so  great 
that  he  could  come  out  of  an  auction  and  repeat  the  catalogue  backward. 
He  died  50  b.c. 


36  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

tiling,  which,  if  you  will  believe  Pythagorus,  is  the  highest 
pitch  of  wisdom  ?  or  he  who  collected  the  dispersed  in- 
habitants of  the  world,  and  united  them  in  the  bonds  of 
social  life  ?  or  he  who  confined  the  sounds  of  the  voice, 
which  used  to  seem  infinite, to  the  marks  of  a  few  letters? 
or  he  who  first  observed  the  courses  of  the  planets,  their 
progressive  motions,  their  laws?  These  were  all  great 
men.  But  they  were  greater  still  who  invented  food,  and 
raiment,  and  houses;  who  introduced  civilization  among 
us,  and  armed  us  against  the  wild  beasts;  by  whom  we 
were  made  sociable  and  polished,  and  so  proceeded  from 
the  necessaries  of  life  to  its  embellishments.  For  we  have 
provided  great  entertainments  for  the  cars  by  inventing 
and  modulating  the  variety  and  nature  of  sounds;  we 
have  learned  to  survey  the  stars,  not  only  those  that  are 
fixed,  but  also  those  which  are  improperly  called  wander- 
ing; and  the  man  who  has  acquainted  himself  with  all 
their  revolutions  and  motions  is  fairly  considered  to  have 
a  soul  resembling  the  soul  of  that  Being  who  has  created 
those  stars  in  the  heavens:  for  w^hen  Archimedes  de- 
scribed in  a  sphere  the  motions  of  the  moon,  sun,  and  five 
planets,  he  did  the  very  same  thing  as  Platd's  God,  in  his 
Timaeus,  who  made  the  world,  causing  one  revolution  to 
adjust  motions  differing  as  much  as  possible  in  their 
slowness  and  velocity.  Now,  allowing  that  what  we  see 
in  the  world  could  not  be  effected  without  a  God,  Archi- 
medes could  not  have  imitated  the  same  motions  in  his 
sphere  without  a  divine  soul. 

XXVI.  To  me,  indeed,  it  appears  that  even  those  studies 
which  are  more  common  and  in  greater  esteem  are  not 
without  some  divine  energy:  so  that  I  do  not  consider 
that  a  poet  can  produce  a  serious  and  sublime  poem  with- 
out some  divine  impulse  working  on  his  mind ;  nor  do  I 
think  that  eloquence,  abounding  with  sonorous  words  and 
fruitful  sentences,  can  flow  thus  without  something  be- 
yond mere  human  power.  But  as  to  philosophy,  that  is 
the  parent  of  all  the  arts:  what  can  we  call  that  but,  as 
Plato  says,  a  gift,  or,  as  I  express  it,  an  invention,  of  the 
Gods?  This  it  was  which  first  taught  us  the  worship  of 
the  Gods ;  and  then  led  us  on  to  justice,  which  arises  from 
the  human  race  being  formed  into  society;  and  after  that 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        37 

it  imbued  us  with  modesty  and  elevation  of  soul.  This 
it  was  which  dispersed  darkness  from  our  souls,  as  it  is 
dispelled  from  our  eyes,  enabling  us  to  see  all  things  that 
are  above  or  below,  the  beginning,  end,  and  middle  of  ev- 
erything. I  am  convinced  entirely  that  that  which  could 
effect  so  many  and  such  great  things  must  be  a  divine 
powx'r.  For  what  is  memory  of  words  and  circumstances? 
What,  too,  is  invention?  Surely  they  are  things  than 
which  nothing  greater  can  be  conceived  in  a  God  !  For  I 
do  not  imagine  the  Gods  to  be  delighted  with  nectar  and 
ambrosia,  or  with  Juventas  presenting  them  with  a  cup ; 
nor  do  I  put  any  faith  in  Homer,  who  says  that  Ganymede 
was  carried  away  by  the  Gods  on  account  of  his  beauty, 
in  order  to  give  Jupiter  his  wine.  Too  weak  reasons  for 
doing  Laomedon  such  injury!  These  were  mere  inven- 
tions of  Homer,  who  gave  his  Gods  the  imperfections  of 
men.  I  would  rather  that  he  had  given  men  the  perfec- 
tions of  the  Gods  !  those  perfections,  I  mean,  of  uninter- 
rupted health,  wisdom,  invention,  memory.  Therefore  the 
soul  (which  is,  as  I  say,  divine)  is,  as  Euripides  more  bold- 
ly expresses  it,  a  God.  And  thus,  if  the  divinity  be  air  or 
fire,  the  soul  of  man  is  the  same ;  for  as  that  celestial  nat- 
ure has  nothing  earthly  or  humid  about  it,  in  like  manner 
the  soul  of  man  is  also  free  from  both  these  qualities :  but 
if  it  is  of  that  fifth  kind  of  nature,  first  introduced  by  Ar- 
istotle, then  both  Gods  and  souls  are  of  the  same. 

XXVII.  As  this  is  my  opinion,  I  have  explained  it  in 
these  very  words,  in  my  book  on  Consolation.^  The  ori- 
gin of  the  soul  of  man  is  not  to  be  found  upon  earth,  for 
there  is  nothing  in  the  soul  of  a  mixed  or  concrete  nature, 
or  that  has  any  appearance  of  being  formed  or  made  out 
of  the  earth ;  nothing  even  humid,  or  airy,  or  fiery.  For 
what  is  there  in  natures  of  that  kind  which  has  the  power 
of  memory,  understanding,  or  thought?  which  can  recol- 
lect the  past,  foresee  the  future,  and  comprehend  the  pres- 
ent? for  these  capabilities  are  confined  to  divine  beings; 
nor  can  we  discover  any  source  from  which  men  could  de- 
rive them,  but  from  God.     There  is  therefore  a  peculiar 

'  This  treatise  is  one  which  h:is  not  come  down  to  ns,  but  which  had 
been  lately  composed  by  Cicero  in  order  to  comfort  himself  for  the  loss 
of  his  daughter. 


38  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

nature  and  power  in  the  soul,  distinct  from  those  natures 
which  are  more  known  and  familiar  to  us.  Whatever, 
then,  that  is  which  thinks,  and  which  has  understanding, 
and  volition,  and  a  principle  of  life,  is  heavenly  and  divine, 
and  on  that  account  must  necessarily  be  eternal;  nor  can 
God  himself,  who  is  known  to  us,  be  conceived  to  be  any- 
thing ijlse  except  a  soul  free  and  unembarrassed,  distinct 
from  all  mortal  concretion,  acquainted  with  everything, 
and  giving  motion  to  everything,  and  itself  endued  with 
perpetual  motion. 

XXVIII.  Of  this  kind  and  nature  is  the  intellect  of  man. 
Where,  then,  is  this  intellect  seated,  and  of  what  character 
is  it?  where  is  your  own,  and  what  is  its  character?  Are 
you  able  to  tell?  If  I  have  not  faculties  for  knowing  all 
that  I  could  desire  to  know,  will  you  not  even  allow  me  to 
make  use  of  those  whicli  I  have  ?  The  soul  has  not  suffi- 
cient capacity  to  comprehend  itself;  yet,  the  soul,  like  the 
eye,  tliough  it  has  no  distinct  view  of  itself,  sees  other 
things :  it  does  not  see  (which  is  of  least  consequence)  its 
own  shape;  perhaps  not,  though  it  possibly  may;  but  we 
will  pass  that  by:  but  it  certainly  sees  that  it  has  vigor, 
sagacity,  memory,  motion,  and  velocity;  these  are  all  great, 
divine,  eternal  properties.  What  its  appearance  is,  or 
where  it  dwells,  it  is  not  necessary  even  to  inquire.  As 
when  we  behold,  first  of  all,  the  beauty  and  brilliant  ap- 
pearance of  the  heavens  ;  secondly,  the  vast  velocity  of  its 
revolutions,  beyond  power  of  our  imagination  to  conceive; 
then  the  vicissitudes  of  nights  and  days,  the  fourfold  divis- 
ion of  the  seasons,  so  well  adapted  to  the  ripening  of  the 
fruits  of  the  earth,  and  the  temperatui-e  of  our  bodies: 
and  after  that  we  look  up  to  the  sun,  the  moderator  and 
governor  of  all  these  things  ;  and  view  the  moon,  by  the 
increase  and  decrease  of  its  light,  marking,  as  it  were,  and 
appointing  our  holy  days ;  and  see  the  five  planets,  borne 
on  in  the  same  circle,  divided  into  twelve  ])arts,  preserving 
the  same  course  with  the  greatest  regularity,  but  with  ut- 
terly dissimilar  motions  among  themselves ;  and  the  night- 
ly appearance  of  the  heaven,  adorned  on  all  sides  with 
stars ;  then,  the  globe  of  the  earth,  raised  above  the  sea, 
and  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  universe,  inhabited  and  cul- 
tivated in  its  two  opposite  extremities,  one  of  which,  the 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  39 

place  of  our  habitation,  is  situated  towards  the  north  pole, 
under  the  seven  stars : 

Where  the  cold  northern  blasts,  with  horrid  sound, 
Hiirden  to  ice  the  snowy  cover'd  ground ; 

the  other,  towards  the  south  pole,  is  unknown  to  us,  but  is 
called  by  the  Greeks  avTix&ova:  the  other  parts  are  uncul- 
tivated, because  they  are  either  frozen  with  cold,  or  burned 
up  with  heat;  but  where  we  dwell,  it  never  fails,  in  its  sea- 
son, 

To  yield  a  placid  sky,  to  bid  the  trees 
Assume  the  lively  verdure  of  their  leaves: 
The  vine  to  bud,  and,  joyful  in  its  shoots, 
Foretell  the  approaching  vintage  of  its  fruits  : 
The  ripen'd  corn  to  sing,  while  all  around 
Full  riv'lets  glide  ;  and  flowers  deck  the  ground : 

then  the  multitude  of  cattle,  fit  part  for  food,  part  for  till- 
ing the  ground,  others  for  carrying  us,  or  for  clothing  us; 
and  man  himself,  made,  as  it  were,  on  purpose  to  contem- 
plate the  heavens  and  the  Gods,  and  to  pay  adoration  to 
them:  lastly,  the  whole  earth,  and  wide  extending  seas, 
given  to  man's  use.  When  we  view  these  and  numberless 
other  things,  can  we  doubt  that  they  have  some  being  who 
presides  over  them,  or  has  made  them  (if,  indeed,  they 
have  been  made,  as  is  the  opinion  of  Plato,  or  if,  as  Aris- 
totle thinks,  they  are  eternal),  or  who  at  all  events  is  the 
regulator  of  so  immense  a  fabric  and  so  great  a  blessing 
to  men  ?  Thus,  though  you  see  not  the  soul  of  man,  as 
you  see  not  the  Deity,  yet,  as  by  the  contemplation  of  his 
works  you  are  led  to  acknowledge  a  God,  so  you  must  own 
the  divine  power  of  the  soul,  from  its  remembering  things, 
from  its  invention,  from  the  quickness  of  its  motion,  and 
from  all  the  beauty  of  virtue.  Where,  then,  is  it  seated, 
you  will  say? 

XXIX.  In  my  o])inion,  it  is  seated  in  the  head,  and  I  can 
bring  you  reasons  for  my  adopting  that  opinion.  At  pres- 
ent, let  the  soul  reside  where  it  will,  you  certainly  have 
one  in  you.  Should  you  ask  what  its  nature  is  ?  It  has 
one  peculiarly  its  own ;  but  admitting  it  to  consist  of  fire, 
or  air,  it  does  not  affect  the  present  question.  Only  ob- 
serve this,  that  as  you  are  convinced  there  is  a  God,  though 


40  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

you  are  ignorant  where  he  resides,  and  what  shape  he  is 
of;  in  like  manner  you  ought  to  feel  assured  that  you  have 
a  soul,  though  you  cannot  satisfy  yourself  of  the  place  of 
its  residence,  nor  its  form.  In  our  knowledge  of  the  soul, 
unless  we  are  grossly  ignorant  of  natural  philosophy,  we 
cannot  but  be  satisfied  that  it  has  nothing  but  what  is 
simple,  unmixed,  uncompounded,  and  single ;  and  if  this  is 
admitted,  then  it  cannot  be  separated,  nor  divided,  nor  dis- 
persed, nor  parted,  and  therefore  it  cannot  perish ;  for  to 
perish  implies  a  parting-asunder,  a  division,  a  disunion,  of 
those  parts  which,  while  it  subsisted,  were  held  together 
by  some  band.  And  it  was  because  he  was  influenced  by 
these  and  similar  reasons  that  Socrates  neither  looked  out 
for  anybody  to  ])lead  for  him  when  he  was  accused,  nor 
begged  any  favor  from  his  judges,  but  maintained  a  man- 
ly freedom,  which  was  the  effect  not  of  pride,  but  of  the 
true  greatness  of  his  soul;  and  on  the  last  day  of  his  life 
he  held  a  long  discourse  on  this  subject;  and  a  few  days 
before,  when  he  might  have  been  easily  freed  from  his  con- 
finement, he  refused  to  be  so;  and  when  he  had  almost 
actually  hold  of  that  deadly  cup,  he  spoke  with  the  air  of 
a  man  not  forced  to  die,  but  ascending  into  heaven. 

XXX.  For  so  indeed  he  thought  himself,  and  thus  he 
spoke:  "That  there  were  two  ways,  and  that  the  souls 
of  men,  at  their  departure  from  the  body,  took  different 
roads;  for  those  which  were  polluted  with  vices  that  are 
common  to  men,  and  which  had  given  themselves  up  en- 
tirely to  unclean  desires,  and  had  become  so  blinded  by 
them  as  to  have  habituated  themselves  to  all  manner  of 
debauchery  and  profligacy,  or  to  have  laid  detestable 
schemes  for  the  ruin  of  their  country,  took  a  road  wide  of 
that  which  led  to  the  assembly  of  the  Gods ;  but  they  who 
had  preserved  themselves  upright  and  chaste,  and  free 
from  the  slightest  contagion  of  the  body,  and  had  always 
kept  themselves  as  far  as  possible  at  a  distance  from  it, 
and  while  on  earth  had  proposed  to  themselves  as  a  model 
the  life  of  the  Gods,  found  the  return  to  those  beings  from 
whom  they  had  come  an  easy  one."  Therefore,  he  argues, 
that  all  good  and  wise  men  should  take  example  from  the 
swans,  who  are  considered  sacred  to  Apollo,  not  without 
reason,  but  particularly  because  they  seem  to  have  received 


ON  THE   CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  41 

the  gift  of  divination  from  him,  by  which,  foreseeing  how 
happy  it  is  to  die,  they  leave  this  world  with  singing  and 
joy.  Nor  can  any  one  doubt  of  this,  unless  it  happens  to 
us  who  think  with  care  and  anxiety  about  the  soul  (as  is 
often  the  case  with  those  who  look  earnestly  at  the  setting 
sun),  to  lose  the  sight  of  it  entirely ;  and  so  the  mind's  eye, 
viewing  itself,  sometimes  grows  dull,  and  for  that  reason 
w^e  become  remiss  in  our  contemplation.  Thus  our  reason- 
ing is  borne  about,  harassed  with  doubts  and  anxieties,  not 
knowing  how  to  proceed,  but  measui-ing  back  again  those 
dangerous  tracts  which  it  has  passed,  like  a  boat  tossed 
about  on  the  boundless  ocean.  But  these  reflections  are 
of  long  standing,  and  borrowed  from  the  Greeks.  But 
Cato  left  this  world  in  such  a  manner  as  if  he  were  de- 
lighted that  he  had  found  an  opportunity  of  dying;  for 
that  God  Avho  presides  in  us  forbids  our  departure  hence 
without  his  leave.  But  when  God  himself  has  given  us  a 
just  cause,  as  formerly  he  did  to  Socrates,  and  lately  to 
Cato,  and  often  to  many  others — in  such  a  case,  certainly 
every  man  of  sense  would  gladly  exchange  this  darkness 
for  that  light :  not  that  he  would  forcibly  break  from  the 
chains  that  held  him,  for  that  would  be  against  the  law ; 
but,  like  a  man  released  from  prison  by  a  magistrate  or 
some  lawful  authority,  so  he  too  would  walk  away,  being 
released  and  discharged  by  God.  For  the  whole  life  of  a 
philosopher  is,  as  the  same  philosopher  says,  a  meditation 
on  death. 

XXXI.  For  what  else  is  it  that  we  do,  when  we  call  off 
our  minds  from  pleasure,  that  is  to  say,  from  our  attention 
to  the  body,  from  the  managing  our  domestic  estate,  which 
is  a  sort  of  handmaid  and  servant  of  the  body,  or  from  du- 
ties of  a  public  nature,  or  from  all  other  serious  business 
w^hatever  ?  What  else  is  it,  I  say,  that  w^e  do,  but  invite 
the  soul  to  reflect  on  itself?  oblige  it  to  converse  with  it- 
self, and,  as  far  as  possible,  break  off  its  acquaintance  with 
the  body  ?  Now,  to  separate  the  soul  from  the  body,  is 
to  learn  to  die,  and  nothing  else  whatever.  Wherefore  take 
my  advice ;  and  let  us  meditate  on  this,  and  separate  our- 
selves as  far  as  possible  from  the  body,  that  is  to  say,  let 
ns  accustom  ourselves  to  die.  Tliis  will  be  enjoying  a  life 
like  that  of  heaven  even  while  we  remain  on  earth ;  and 


42  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

when  wc  are  can-ied  thither  and  released  from  these  bonds, 
our  souls  will  make  their  progress  with  more  rapidity;  for 
the  spirit  which  has  always  been  fettered  by  the  bonds  of 
the  body,  even  when  it  is  disengaged,  advances  more  slow- 
ly, just  as  those  do  who  have  worn  actual  fetters  for  many 
years :  but  when  we  have  arrived  at  this  emancipation 
from  the  bonds  of  the  body,  then  indeed  we  shall  begin  to 
live,  for  this  present  life  is  really  death,  which  I  could  say 
a  good  deal  in  lamentation  for  if  I  chose. 

A.  You  have  lamented  it  sufficiently  in  yonr  book  on 
Consolation  ;  and  when  I  read  that,  there  is  nothing  which 
I  desire  more  than  to  leave  these  tilings;  but  that  desire 
is  increased  a  great  deal  by  what  I  have  just  heard. 

31.  The  time  will  come,  and  that  soon,  and  with  equal 
certainty,  whether  you  hang  back  or  press  forward ;  for 
time  flies.  But  death  is  so  far  from  being  an  evil,  as  it 
lately  appeared  to  you,  that  I  am  inclined  to  suspect,  not 
that  there  is  no  other  thing  which  is  an  evil  to  man,  but 
rather  that  there  is  nothing  else  which  is  a  real  good  to 
him ;  if,  at  least,  it  is  true  that  w^e  become  thereby  either 
Gods  ourselves,  or  companions  of  the  Gods.  However, 
this  is  not  of  so  much  consequence,  as  there  are  some  of 
ns  here  who  will  not  allow  this.  But  I  w^ill  not  leave  off 
discussing  this  point  till  I  have  convinced  you  that  death 
can,  npon  no  consideration  whatever,  be  an  evil. 

A.  How  can  it,  after  what  I  now  know  ? 

M.  Do  you  ask  how  it  can?  There  are  crowds  of  ar- 
guers  who  contradict  this ;  and  those  not  only  Epicureans, 
whom  I  regard  very  little,  but,  somehow  or  other,  almost 
every  man  of  letters ;  and,  above  all,  my  favorite  Dica3nr- 
chus  is  very  strenuons  in  opposing  the  immortality  of  the 
soul :  for  he  has  written  three  books,  which  are  entitled 
Lesbiacs,  because  the  discourse  was  held  at  Mitylene,  in 
which  he  seeks  to  prove  that  souls  are  mortal.  The  Stoics, 
on  the  other  hand,  allow  us  as  long  a  time  for  enjoyment 
as  the  life  of  a  raven ;  they  allow  the  soul  to  exist  a  great 
while,  but  are  against  its  eternity. 

XXXII.  Are  you  willing  to  hear  then  why,  even  allow- 
ing this,  death  cannot  be  an  evil. 

A.  As  you  please;  but  no  one  shall  drive  me  from  my 
belief  in  mortality. 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OE  DEATH.  43 

M.  I  commend  you,  indeocl,  for  that ;  though  we  should 
not  be  too  confident  in  our  belief  of  anything;  for  we  are 
frequently  disturbed  by  some  subtle  conclusion.  We  give 
way  and  change  our  opinions  even  in  things  that  are  more 
evident  than  this;  for  in  this  there  certainly  is  some  ob- 
scurity. Therefore,  should  anything  of  this  kind  happen, 
it  is  well  to  be  on  our  guard. 

A.  You  are  right  in  that;  but  I  will  provide  against 
any  accident. 

M.  Have  you  any  objection  to  our  dismissing  our  friends 
the  Stoics — those,  I  mean,  who  allow  that  the  souls  exist 
after  they  have  left  the  body,  but  yet  deny  that  they  exist 
forever  ? 

A.  We  certainly  may  dismiss  the  consideration  of  those 
men  who  admit  that  which  is  the  most  difticult  point  in 
the  whole  question,  namely,  that  a  soul  can  exist  inde- 
pendently of  the  body,  and  yet  refuse  to  grant  that  which 
is  not  only  very  easy  to  believe,  but  which  is  even  the 
natural  consequence  of  the  concession  which  they  have 
made  —  that  if  they  can  exist  for  a  length  of  time,  they 
most  likely  do  so  forever. 

M.  You  take  it  right;  that  is  the  very  thing.  Shall  we 
give,  therefore,  any  credit  to  Panjetius,  when  he  dissents 
from  his  master,  Plato?  whom  he  everywhere  calls  divine, 
the  wisest,  the  holiest  of  men,  the  Homer  of  philosophers, 
and  whom  he  opposes  in  nothing  except  this  single  opinion 
of  the  soul's  immortality :  for  he  maintains  what  nobody 
denies,  that  everything  which  has  been  generated  will  per- 
ish, and  that  even  souls  are  generated,  which  he  thinks 
appears  from  their  resemblance  to  those  of  the  men  who 
begot  them ;  for  that  likeness  is  as  apparent  in  the  turn 
of  their  minds  as  in  their  bodies.  But  he  brings  another 
reason — that  there  is  nothing  which  is  sensible  of  pain 
which  is  not  also  liable  to  disease;  but  whatever  is  liable 
to  disease  must  be  liable  to  death.  The  soul  is  sensible 
of  pain,  therefore  it  is  liable  to  perish. 

XXXHI.  These  arguments  may  be  refuted ;  for  they 
proceed  from  his  not  knowing  that,  while  discussing  the 
subject  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  he  is  speaking  of 
the  intellect,  which  is  free  from  all  turbid  motion ;  but 
not  of  those  parts  of  the  mind  in  which  those  disorders, 


44  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

anger  and  lust,  have  their  seat,  and  which  he  whom  he  is 
opposing,  when  he  argues  thus,  imagines  to  be  distinct 
and  separate  from  the  mind.  Now  this  resemblance  is 
more  remarkable  in  beasts,  whose  souls  are  void  of  reason. 
But  the  likeness  in  men  consists  more  in  the  configuration 
of  the  bodies:  and  it  is  of  no  little  consequence  in  what 
bodies  the  soul  is  lodged ;  for  there  are  many  things  which 
depend  on  the  body  that  give  an  edge  to  the  soul,  many 
which  blunt  it.  Aristotle,  indeed,  says  that  all  men  of 
great  genius  are  melancholy;  so  that  I  should  not  have 
been  displeased  to  have  been  somewhat  duller  than  I  am. 
He  instances  many,  and,  as  if  it  were  matter  of  fact,  brings 
his  reasons  for  it.  But  if  the  power  of  those  things  that 
proceed  from  the  body  be  so  great  as  to  influence  the 
mind  (for  they  are  the  tilings,  whatever  they  are,  that  oc- 
casion this  likeness),  still  that  does  not  necessarily  prove 
why  a  similitude  of  souls  should  be  generated.  I  say 
nothing  about  cases  of  nnlikeness.  I  wish  Panaetius  could 
be  here:  he  lived  with  Africanus.  I  would  inquire  of 
him  which  of  his  family  the  nephew  of  Af ricanus's  brother 
was  like?  Possibly  he  may  in  person  have  resembled  his 
father ;  but  in  his  manners  he  was  so  like  every  profligate, 
abandoned  man,  that  it  was  impossible  to  be  more  so. 
Whom  did  the  grandson  of  P.  Crassus,  that  wise  and  elo- 
quent and  most  distinguished  man,  resemble?  Or  the  re- 
lations and  sons  of  many  other  excellent  men,  whose  names 
there  is  no  occasion  to  mention  ?  But  what  are  we  doing  ? 
Have  we  forgotten  that  our  purpose  was,  when  we  had 
sufficiently  spoken  on  the  subject  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  to  prove  that,  even  if  the  soul  did  perish,  there 
would  be,  even  then,  no  evil  in  death  ? 

A.  I  remembered  it  very  well;  but  I  had  no  dislike  to 
your  digressing  a  little  from  your  original  design,  while 
you  were  talking  of  the  soul's  immortality. 

M.  I  perceive  you  have  sublime  thoughts,  and  are  eager 
to  mount  up  to  heaven. 

XXXIV.  I  am  not  without  hopes  myself  that  such  may 
be  our  fate.  But  admit  what  they  assert — that  tlie  soul 
does  not  continue  to  exist  after  death. 

A.  Should  it  be  so,  I  see  that  we  are  then  deprived  of 
the  hopes  of  a  happier  life. 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  45 

M.  But  what  is  there  of  evil  in  that  opinion  ?  For  let 
the  soul  perish  as  the  body:  is  there  any  pain,  or  indeed 
any  feeUng  at  all,  in  the  body  after  death  ?  No  one,  in- 
deed, asserts  that;  though  Epicurus  charges  Deniocritus 
with  saying  so ;  but  the  disciples  of  Deniocritus  deny  it. 
No  sense,  therefore,  remains  in  the  soul;  for  the  soul  is 
nowhere.  Where,  then,  is  the  evil?  for  there  is  nothing 
but  these  two  things.  Is  it  because  the  mere  separation 
of  the  soul  and  body  cannot  be  effected  without  pain  ? 
But  even  should  that  be  granted,  how  small  a  pain  must 
that  be !  Yet  I  think  that  it  is  false,  and  that  it  is  very 
often  unaccompanied  by  any  sensation  at  all,  and  some- 
times even  attended  with  pleasure ;  but  certainly  the  whole 
must  be  very  trifling,  whatever  it  is,  for  it  is  instantaneous. 
What  makes  us  uneasy,  or  rather  gives  us  pain,  is  the 
leaving  all  the  good  things  of  life.  But  just  consider  if  I 
might  not  more  properly  say,  leaving  the  evils  of  life; 
only  there  is  no  reason  for  my  now  occupying  myself  in 
bewailing  the  life  of  man,  and  yet  I  might,  with  very  good 
reason.  But  what  occasion  is  there,  when  what  I  am  la- 
boring to  prove  is  that  no  one  is  miserable  after  death,  to 
make  life  more  miserable  by  lamenting  over  it?  I  have 
done  that  in  the  book  which  I  wrote,  in  order  to  comfort 
myself  as  well  as  I  could.  If,  then,  our  inquiry  is  after 
truth,  death  withdraws  us  from  evil,  not  from  good.  This 
subject  is  indeed  so  copiously  handled  by  llegesias,  the 
Cyrenaic  philosopher,  that  he  is  said  to  have  been  forbid- 
den by  Ptolemy  from  delivering  his  lectures  in  the  schools, 
because  some  who  heard  him  made  away  Avith  themselves. 
There  is,  too,  an  epigram  of  Callimachus^  on  Cleombrotus 
of  Ambracia,  who,  without  any  misfortune  having  befall- 
en him,  as  he  says,  threw  himself  from  a  wall  into  the  sea, 
after  he  had  read  a  book  of  Plato's.  The  book  I  mention- 
ed of  that  Hegesias  is  called  'ATrofv-ap-epdir,  or  "A  Man  who 
*  The  epigram  is, 

Ei'7ra9  "HAie  X°^P^>  KXeoju/SpoTO?  "Q.^PpaKiw-ty': 

riXar'  a<})   v^r\\ov  reixeoi  ei?  'Ai8r)v, 
cif  joi/  ovSev  \6u)v  OavaTou  kukov,  uW«  nXfiTwvov 

ev  TO  irepl  i/zi'-XI?  TP"MM'  uvaXe^dfxevo^. 

Whicli  ma}'  be  translated,  perhaps, 

Farewell,  O  sun,  Cleombrotus  exclaim'd, 
Then  plunged  from  off  a  height  beneath  the  sea  ; 

Stung  by  pain,  of  no  disgrace  ashamed. 
But  moved  by  Plato's  high  philosophy. 


46  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

starves  liimselfj"  in  which  a  man  is  represented  as  kilHng 
himself  by  starvation,  till  he  is  prevented  by  his  friends, 
in  reply  to  whom  he  reckons  up  all  the  miseries  of  human 
life.  I  might  do  the  same,  though  not  so  fully  as  he,  who 
thinks  it  not  worth  any  man's  while  to  live.  I  pass  over 
others.  Was  it  even  worth  my  while  to  live,  for,  had  I 
died  before  I  was  deprived  of  the  comforts  of  my  own 
family,  and  of  the  honors  which  I  received  for  my  public 
services,  would  not  death  have  taken  me  from  the  evils  of 
life  rather  than  from  its  blessings? 

XXXV.  Mention,  therefore,  some  one,  who  uexev  knew 
distress;  who  never  received  any  blow  from  fortune. 
The  great  Metellus  had  four  distinguished  sons;  but 
Priam  had  fifty,  seventeen  of  whom  were  born  to  him  by 
his  lawful  wife.  Fortune  had  the  same  power  over  both, 
though  she  exercised  it  but  on  one ;  for  Metellus  was  laid 
on  his  funeral  pile  by  a  great  company  of  sons  and  daugh- 
ters, grandsons,  and  granddaughters;  but  Priam  fell  by 
the  hand  of  an  enemy,  after  having  fled  to  the  altar,  and 
having  seen  himself  deprived  of  all  his  numerous  progeny. 
Had  he  died  before  the  death  of  his  sons  and  the  ruin  of 
his  kingdom. 

With  all  his  mighty  wealth  elate,  * 

Under  rich  canopies  of  state ; 

would  he  then  have  been  taken  from  good  or  from  evil? 
It  would  indeed,  at  that  time,  have  appeared  that  he  was 
being  taken  away  from  good;  yet  surely  it  would  have 
turned  out  advantageous  for  him ;  nor  should  we  have 
had  these  mournful  verses, 

Lo !  these  all  perish 'd  in  one  flaming  pile  ; 
The  foe  old  Priam  did  of  life  beguile, 
And  with  his  blood,  thy  altar,  Jove,  defile. 

As  if  anything  better  could  have  happened  to  him  at  that 
time  than  to  lose  his  life  in  that  manner ;  but  yet,  if  it  had 
befallen  him  sooner,  it  would  have  prevented  all  those  con- 
sequences; but  even  as  it  was,  it  released  him  from  any 
further  sense  of  them.     The  case  of  our  friend  Pompey* 

*  This  is  alluded  to  by  Juvenal : 

Provida  Ponipeio  dederat  Campania  febres 
Optaudaa  :  sed  multje  urbes  et  publica  vota 
Vicenint.    I^itur  Fortuiia  ipeius  et  Urbip, 
Servatum  victo  caput  abstulit — Sat.  x.  283. 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  47 

was  soinetliing  better:  once,  when  he  had  been  very  ill 
at  Naples,  the  Neapolitans,  on  his  recovery,  put  crowns 
on  their  heads,  as  did  those  of  Puteoli;  the  people  flocked 
from  the  country  to  congratulate  hira — it  is  a  Grecian 
custom,  and  a  foolish  one;  still  it  is  a  sign  of  good  fort- 
une. But  the  qu-estion  is,  had  he  died,  would  he  have 
been  taken  from  good,  or  from  evil?  Certainly  from 
evil.  He  would  not  have  been  engaged  in  a  war  with  his 
father-in-law;^  he  Avould  not  have  taken  up  arms  before 
he  was  prepared ;  he  would  not  have  left  his  own  house, 
nor  fled  from  Italy;  he  would  not,  after  the  loss  of  his 
army,  have  fallen  unarmed  into  the  hands  of  slaves,  and 
been  put  to  death  by  them ;  liis  children  would  not  have 
been  destroyed ;  nor  would  his  whole  fortune  have  come 
into  the  possession  of  the  conquerors.  Did  not  he,  then, 
who,  if  he  had  died  at  that  time,  would  Jiave  died  in  all 
his  glory,  owe  all  the  great  and  terrible  misfortunes  into 
which  he  subsequently  fell  to  the  prolongation  of  his  life 
at  that  time  ? 

XXXVI.  These  calamities  are  avoided  by  death,  for 
even  though  they  should  never  happen,  there  is  a  possibil- 
ity that  they  may;  but  it  never  occurs  to  a  man  that  such 
a  disaster  may  befall  him  liimself.  Every  one  hopes  to 
be  as  happy  as  Metellus :  as  if  the  number  of  the  happy 
exceeded  that  of  the  miserable;  or  as  if  there  were  any 
certainty  in  human  affairs;  or,  again,  as  if  there  were 
more  rational  foundation  for  hope  than  fear.  But  should 
we  grant  them  even  this,  that  men  are  by  death  deprived 
of  good  things ;  would  it  follow  that  the  dead  are  there- 
fore in  need  of  the  good  things  of  life,  and  are  miserable 
on  that  account?  Certainly  they  must  necessarily  say  so. 
Can  he  who  does  not  exist  be  in  need  of  anything?  To 
be  in  need  of  has  a  melancholy  sound,  because  it  in  effect 
amounts  to  this — he  had,  but  he  has  not;  he  regrets,  he 
looks  back  upon,  he  wants.     Such  are,  I  suppose,  the  dis- 


She  died  the  year  before  the  death  of  Crassus,  in  Partliia.  Virgil 
speaks  of  Cajsar  and  Pompey  as  relations,  using  the  same  expression 
(socer)  as  Cicero  : 

Aorgeribns  socer  Alpinis  atque  arce  Mouoeci 

Desceudeus,  geuer  udversis  iustructus  Eois.— ^n.  vl.  830. 


48  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

tresses  of  one  wlio  is  in  need  of.  Is  he  deprived  of  eyes? 
to  be  blind  is  misery.  Is  be  destitute  of  children  ?  not  to 
have  them  is  misery.  These  considerations  apply  to  the 
living,  but  the  dead  are  neither  in  need  of  the  blessings 
of  life,  nor  of  life  itself.  But  when  I  am  speaking  of  the 
dead,  I  am  speaking  of  those  who  have  no  existence.  But 
would  any  one  say  of  us,  who  do  exist,  that  we  want 
horns  or  wings?  Certainly  not.  Should  it  be  asked, 
why  not?  the  answer  would  be,  that  not  to  have  what 
neither  custom  nor  nature  has  fitted  you  for  would  not 
imply  a  want  of  them,  even  though  you  were  sensible  that 
you  had  them  not.  This  argument  should  be  pressed 
over  and  over  again,  after  that  point  has  once  been  estab- 
lished, which,  if  souls  are  mortal,  there  can  be  no  dispute 
about — I  mean,  that  the  destruction  of  them  by  death  is 
so  entire  as  to  ^-emove  even  the  least  suspicion  of  any 
sense  remaining.  When,  therefore,  this  point  is  once  well 
grounded  and  established,  we  must  correctly  define  what 
the  term  to  want  means;  that  there  may  be  no  mistake 
in  the  word.  To  vvnut,  then,  signifies  this:  to  be  without 
that  which  you  would  be  glad  to  have;  for  inclination  for 
a  thing  is  implied  in  the  word  want,  excepting  when  we 
use  the  word  in  an  entirely  different  sense,  as  we  do  when 
we  say  that  a  fever  is  wanting  to  any  one.  For  it  admits 
of  a  different  interpretation,  when  you  are  witliout  a  cer- 
tain thing,  and  are  sensible  that  you  are  without  it,  but 
yet  can  easily  dispense  with  having  it.  "  To  w^ant,"  then, 
is  an  expression  which  you  cannot  apply  to  the  dead ;  nor 
is  the  mere  fact  of  wanting  something  necessarily  lamen- 
table. The  proper  expression  ought  to  be,  "  that  they 
want  a  good,"  and  that  is  an  evil. 

But  a  living  man  does  not  want  a  good,  unless  he  is  dis- 
tressed without  it;  and  yet,  we  can  easily  understand 
how  any  man  alive  can  be  without  a  kingdom.  But  this 
cannot  be  predicated  of  you  with  any  accuracy :  it  might 
have  been  asserted  of  Tarquin,  when  he  was  driven  from 
his  kingdom.  But  when  such  an  expression  is  used  re- 
specting the  dead,  it  is  absolutely  unintelligible.  For  to 
want  implies  to  be  sensible;  but  the  dead  are  insensible: 
therefore,  the  dead  can  be  in  no  want. 

XXXVII.  But  what  occasion  is  there  to  philosophize 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  49 

here  in  a  matter  with  which  we  see  tliat  philosophy  is  but 
little  concerned  ?  How  often  have  not  only  our  generals, 
but  whole  armies,  rushed  on  certain  death  !  But  if  it  had 
been  a  thing  to  be  feared,  L.  Brutus  would  never  have 
fallen  in  fight,  to  prevent  the  return  of  that  tyrant  whom 
he  had  expelled;  nor  would  Decius  the  father  have  been 
slain  in  fighting  with  the  Latins;  nor  would  his  son, 
w^hen  engaged  with  the  Etruscans,  nor  his  grandson  with 
Pyrrhus,  have  exposed  themselves  to  the  enemy's  darts. 
Spain  would  never  have  seen,  in  one  campaign,  the  Scip- 
ios  fall  fighting  for  their  country ;  nor  would  the  plains 
of  Canna3  have  witnessed  the  death  of  Paulus  and  Gemi- 
nus,  or  Yenusia  that  of  Marcellus ;  nor  would  the  Latins 
have  beheld  the  death  of  Albinus,  nor  the  Leucanians 
that  of  Gracchus.  But  are  any  of  these  miserable  now? 
Nay,  they  w^ere  not  so  even  at  the  first  moment  after  they 
had  breathed  their  last;  nor  can  any  one  be  miserable  af- 
ter he  has  lost  all  sensation.  Oh,  but  the  mere  circum- 
stance of  beino:  without  sensation  is  miserable.  It  misjht 
be  so  if  being  without  sensation  were  the  same  thmg  as 
wanting  it;  but  as  it  is  evident  there  can  be  nothing  of 
any  kind  in  that  which  has  no  existence,  what  can  tliere 
be  afflicting  to  that  which  can  neither  feel  want  nor  be 
sensible  of  anything?  We  might  be  said  to  have  repeat- 
ed this  over  too  often,  only  that  here  lies  all  that  the  soul 
shudders  at  from  the  fear  of  death.  For  whoever  can 
clearly  apprehend  that  which  is  as  manifest  as  the  light — 
that  when  both  soul  and  body  are  consumed,  and  there 
is  a  total  destruction,  then  that  which  was  an  animal  be- 
comes nothing — will  clearly  see  that  there  is  no  difference 
between  a  Hippocentaur,  which  never  had  existence,  and 
King  Agamemnon ;  and  that  M.  Camillus  is  no  more  con- 
cerned about  this  present  civil  war  than  I  was  at  the 
sacking  of  Rome,  when  he  w^as  living. 

XXXVIII.  Wiiy,  then,  should  Camillus  be  affected  with 
the  thoughts  of  these  things  happening  three  hundred  and 
fifty  years  after  his  time  ?  And  why  should  I  be  uneasy 
if  I  were  to  expect  that  some  nation  might  possess  itself 
of  this  city  ten  thousand  years  hence  ?  Because  so  great 
is  our  regard  for  our  country,  as  not  to  be  measured  by 
our  own  feeling,  but  by  its  own  actual  safety. 

3 


50  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

Death,  then,  which  threatens  us  daily  from  a  thousand 
accidents,  and  whicli,  by  reason  of  the  shortness  of  life, 
can  never  be  far  off,  does  not  deter  a  wise  man  from  mak- 
ing such  provision  for  his  country  and  his  family  as  he 
hopes  may  last  forever ;  and  from  regarding  posterity,  of 
which  he  can  never  have  any  real  perception,  as  belonging 
to  himself.  Wherefore  a  man  may  act  for  eternity,  even 
though  he  be  persuaded  that  his  soul  is  mortal ;  not,  in- 
deed, from  a  desire  of  glory,  which  he  will  be  insensible 
of,  but  from  a  principle  of  virtue,  which  glory  will  inevita- 
bly attend,  though  that  is  not  his  object.  The  process, 
indeed,  of  nature  is  this:  that  just  in  the  same  manner  as 
our  birth  was  the  beginning  of  things  with  us,  so  death 
will  be  the  end;  and  as  we  were  noways  concerned  with 
anything  before  we  were  born,  so  neither  shall  we  be  after 
we  are  dead.  And  in  this  state  of  things  where  can  the 
evil  be,  since  death  has  no  connection  with  either  the 
living  or  the  dead?  The  one  have  no  existence  at  all,  the 
other  are  not  yet  affected  by  it.  They  who  make  the  least 
of  death  consider  it  as  having  a  great  resemblance  to  sleej) ; 
as  if  any  one  would  choose  to  live  ninety  years  on  condi- 
tion that,  at  the  expiration  of  sixty,  he  should  sleep  out 
the  remainder.  The  very  swine  would  not  accept  of  life 
on  those  terms,  much  less  I.  Endymion,  indeed,  if  you 
listen  to  fables,  slept  once  on  a  time  on  Latmus,  a  moun- 
tain of  Caria,  and  for  such  a  length  of  time  that  I  imagine 
he  is  not  as  yet  awake.  Do  you  think  that  he  is  concern- 
ed at  the  Moon's  being  in  difHculties,  though  it  was  by 
her  that  he  was  thrown  into  that  sleep,  in  order  that  she 
might  kiss  him  while  sleeping.  For  what  should  he  be 
concerned  for  who  has  not  even  any  sensation  ?  You  look 
on  sleep  as  an  image  of  death,  and  you  take  tliat  on  you 
daily ;  and  have  you,  then,  any  doubt  that  there  is  no  sen- 
sation in  deatl),  when  you  see  there  is  none  in  sleep,  which 
is  its  near  resemblance? 

XXXIX.  Away,  then,  with  those  follies,  which  are  little 
better  than  the  old  women's  dreams,  such  as  that  it  is  mis- 
erable to  die  before  our  time.  What  time  do  you  mean? 
That  of  nature?  But  she  lias  only  lent  you  life,  as  she 
might  lend  you  money,  without  fixing  any  certain  time 
for  its  repayment.     Have  you  any  grounds  of  complaint. 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  61 

tlien,  lliat  slie  recalls  it  at  lier  pleasure?  for  you  received 
it  on  these  terms.  They  that  complain  thus  allow  that  if 
a  young  child  dies,  the  survivors  ought  to  bear  his  loss 
with  equanimity ;  that  if  an  infant  in  the  cradle  dies,  they 
ought  not  even  to  utter  a  complaint;  and  yet  nature  has 
been  more  severe  with  them  in  demanding  back  what  she 
gave.  Tiiey  answer  by  saying  that  such  have  not  tasted 
the  sweets  of  life;  while  the  other  had  begun  to  conceive 
hopes  of  great  happiness,  and,  indeed,  had  begun  to  realize 
them.  Men  judge  better  in  other  things,  and  allow  a  part 
to  be  preferable  to  none.  Why  do  they  not  admit  the 
same  estimate  in  life?  Though  Callimachus  does  not 
speak  amiss  in  saying  that  more  tears  had  flowed  from 
Priam  than  his  son ;  yet  they  are  thought  happier  who 
die  after  they  have  reached  old  age.  It  would  be  hard  to 
say  why;  for  I  do  not  apprehend  that  any  one,  if  a  longer 
life  were  granted  to  him,  would  find  it  happier.  There  is 
nothing  more  agreeable  to  a  man  than  prudence,  which  old 
age  most  certainly  bestows  on  a  man,  though  it  may  strip 
Iiim  of  everything  else.  But  what  age  is  long,  or  what  is 
there  at  all  long  to  a  man  ?     Does  not 

Old  np;e,  though  unregarded,  still  attend 

On  childhood's  pastimes,  as  the  cares  of  men  ? 

But  because  there  is  nothing  beyond  old  age,  Ave  call  that 
long :  all  these  things  are  said  to  be  long  or  short,  accord- 
ing to  the  proportion  of  time  they  were  given  us  for. 
Artistotle  saith  there  is  a  kind  of  insect  near  the  river 
Ilypanis,  which  runs  from  a  certain  part  of  Europe  into 
the  Pontus,  whose  life  consists  but  of  one  day;  those  that 
die  at  the  eighth  hour  die  in  full  age;  those  who  die 
when  the  sun  sets  are  very  old,  especially  wlien  the  days 
are  at  the  longest.  Compare  our  longest  life  with  eter- 
nity, and  we  shall  be  found  almost  as  short-lived  as  those 
little  animals. 

XL.  Let  us,  then,  despise  all  these  follies  —  for  what 
softer  name  can  I  give  to  such  levities? — and  let  us  lay 
the  foundation  of  our  happiness  in  the  strength  and  great- 
ness of  our  minds,  in  a  contempt  and  disregard  of  all 
eartlily  things,  and  in  the  practice  of  every  virtue.  For 
at  present  we  are  enervated  by  the  softness  of  our  imagi- 


62  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

nations,  so  that,  slionld  we  leave  this  world  before  the 
promises  of  our  fortune-tellers  are  made  good  to  us,  wc 
should  think  ourselves  deprived  of  some  great  advantages, 
and  seem  disappointed  and  forlorn.  But  if,  through  life, 
we  are  in  continual  suspense,  still  expecting,  still  desiring, 
and  are  in  continual  pain  and  toi-ture,  good  Gods !  how 
pleasant  must  that  journey  be  which  ends  in  security  and 
ease  !  How  pleased  am  I  with  Theramenes  !  Of  how  ex- 
alted a  soul  does  he  api3ear  !  For,  although  we  never  read 
of  him  without  tears,  yet  that  illustrious  man  is  not  to  be 
lamented  in  his  death,  who,  when  he  had  been  imprisoned 
by  the  command  of  the  thirty  tyrants,  drank  off,  at  one 
draught,  as  if  he  had  been  thirsty,  the  poisoned  cup,  and 
threw  the  remainder  out  of  it  with  such  force  that  it 
sounded  as  it  fell;  and  then,  on  hearing  the  sound  of  the 
drops,  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "I  drink  this  to  the  most  ex- 
cellent Critias,"  who  had  been  his  most  bitter  enemy;  for 
it  is  customary  among  the  Greeks,  at  their  banquets,  to 
name  the  person  to  whom  they  intend  to  deliver  the  cup. 
This  celebrated  man  was  pleasant  to  the  last,  even  when 
he  had  received  the  poison  into  his  bowels,  and  truly  fore- 
told the  death  of  that  man  whom  he  named  when  he  drank 
the  poison,  and  that  death  soon  followed.  Who  that 
thinks  death  an  evil  could  approve  of  the  evenness  of  tem- 
per in  this  great  man  at  the  instant  of  dying  ?  Socrates 
came,  a  few  years  after,  to  the  same  prison  and  the  same 
cup  by  as  great  iniquity  on  the  part  of  his  judges  as  the 
tyrants  displayed  when  they  executed  Theramenes.  What 
a  speech  is  that  which  Plato  makes  him  deliver  before  his 
judges,  after  they  had  condemned  him  to  death  ! 

XLI.  "I  am  not  without  hopes,  O  judges,  that  it  is  a 
favorable  circumstance  for  me  that  I  am  condenmed  to 
die;  for  one  of  these  two  things  must  necessarily  happen 
— eitlier  that  death  will  deprive  me  entirely  of  all  sense,  or 
else  that,  by  dying,  I  shall  go  from  hence  into  some  other 
place;  wherefore, if  all  sense  is  utterly  extinguished,  and  if 
death  is  like  that  sleep  which  sometimes  is  so  undisturbed 
as  to  be  even  without  the  visions  of  dreams — in  that  case, 
O  ye  good  Gods!  what  gain  is  it  to  die?  or  what  length 
'of  days  can  be  imagined  which  would  be  preferable  to 
Buch  a  night?     And  if  the  constant  course  of  future  time 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  63 

is  to  resemble  that  nigbt,  who  is  happier  than  I  am  ?  But 
if,  on  the  other  liand,  what  is  said  be  true,  namely,  that 
death  is  but  a  removal  to  those  regions  where  the  souls  of 
the  departed  dwell,  then  that  state  must  be  more  happy- 
still  ^to  have  escaped  from  those  who  call  themselves 
judges,  and  to  appear  before  such  as  are  truly  so — Minos, 
Rhadamanthus,  ^acus,  Triptolemns" — and 'to  meet  with 
those  who  have  lived  with  justice  and  probity  !*  Can  this 
change  of  abode  appear  otherwise  than  great  to  you? 
What  bounds  can  you  set  to  the  value  of  conversing  with 
Orplieus,  and  Musa^us,  and  Homer,  and  Hesiod  ?  I  would 
even,  were  it  possible,  willingly  die  often,  in  order  to  prove 
the  certainty  of  what  I  speak  of.V  What  delight  must  it 
be  to  meet  with  Palamedes,  and  Ajax,  and  others,  who 
have  been  betrayed  by  the  iniquity  of  their  judges  !  Then, 
also,  should  I  experience  the  wisdom  of  even  that  king  of 
kings,  who  led  his  vast  troops  to  Troy,  and  the  prudence 
of  Ulysses  and  Sisyphus :  nor  should  I  then  be  condemned 
for  prosecuting  my  inquiries  on  such  subjects  in  the  same 
w^ay  in  which  I  have  done  here  on  earth.'  And  even  you, 
my  judges,  you,  I  mean,  who  have  voted  for  my  acquittal, 
do  not  you  fear  death,  for  nothing  bad  can  befall  a  good 
man,  whether  he  be  alive  or  dead;  nor  are  his  concerns 
ever  overlooked  by  the  Gods ;  nor  in  niy  case  either  has 
this  befallen  me  by  chance ;  and  I  have  nothing  to  charge 
those  men  with  who  accused  or  condemned  me  but  the 
fact  that  they  believed  that  they  were  doing  me  harm." 
In  this  manner  he  proceeded.  There  is  no  part  of  his 
speech  which  I  admire  more  than  his  last  words  j/"  But  it 
is  time,"  says  he, "  for  me  now  to  go  hence,  that  I  may 
die;  and  for  you,  that  you  may  continue  to  live.  Which 
condition  of  the  two  is  the  best,  the  immortal  Gods  know ; 
but  I  do  not  believe  that  any  mortal  man  does." 

*  This  idea  is  beautifully  expanded  by  Byron : 

Yet  if,  as  holiest  men  have  deem'd,  there  be 
A  land  of  sonls  beyond  that  sable  shore 
To  shame  the  doctrine  of  the  Sadducee 
And  sophist,  madly  vain  of  dubious  lore, 
How  sweet  it  were  in  concert  to  adore 
With  those  who  made  our  mortal  labors  light, 
To  hear  each  voice  we  fear'd  to  hear  no  more, 
Behold  each  mighty  shade  reveal'd  to  sight, 
The  Bactriau,  Saraiau  sage,  and  all  who  taught  the  right ! 

Childe  Harold,  ii. 


64  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

XLII.  Surely  I  would  rather  have  had  this  man's  soul 
than  all  the  fortunes  of  those  who  sat  in  judgment  on 
him ;  although  that  very  thing  which  he  says  no  one  ex- 
cept the  Gods  know,  namely,  whether  life  or  death  is  most 
preferable,  he  knows  himself,  for  he  had  previously  stated 
his  opinion  on  it;  but  he  maintained  to  the  last  that  fa- 
vorite maxim  of  his,  of  affirming  nothing.  And  let  us, 
too,  adhere  to  this  rule  of  not  thinking  anything  an  evil 
which  is  a  general  provision  of  nature ;  and  let  us  assure 
ourselves,  that  if  death  is  an  evil,  it  is  an  eternal  evil,  for 
death  seems  to  be  the  end  of  a  miserable  life ;  but  if  death 
is  a  misery,  there  can  be  no  end  of  that.  But  why  do  I 
mention  Socrates,  or  Theramenes,  men  distinguished  by  the 
glory  of  virtue  and  wisdom  ?  when  a  certain  Lacedemo- 
nian, whose  name  is  not  so  much  as  known,  held  death 
in  such  contempt,  that,  wlien  led  to  it  by  the  ephori,  he 
bore  a  cheerful  and  pleasant  countenance;  and,  when  he 
was  asked  by  one  of  his  enemies  whether  he  despised  the 
laws  of  Lycurgus,  "  On  the  contrary,"  answered  he,  "I  am 
greatly  obliged  to  him,  for  he  has  amerced  me  in  a  fine 
which  I  can  pay  without  borrowing,  or  taking  uj)  money 
at  interest."  This  was  a  man  worthy  of  Sparta.  And  I 
am  almost  persuaded  of  his  innocence  because  of  the 
greatness  of  his  soul.  Our  own  city  has  produced  many 
such.  /But  why  should  I  name  generals,  and  other  men 
of  high  rank,  when  Cato  could  wi'ite  that  legions  have 
marched  with  alacrity  to  that  place  from  whence  they 
never  expected  to  return?  With  no  less  greatness  of 
soul  fell  the  Lacedaimonians  at  Thcrmopylas,  on  whom  Si- 
mouides  wrote  the  following  epitaph  : 

Go,  stranger,  tell  the  Spartans,  here  we  lie, 
Who  to  support  their  laws  durst  boldly  die.* 

What  was  it  that  Leonidas,  their  general,  said  to  them  ? 
"March  on  with  courage,  my  Lacedaemonians.  To-night, 
perhaps,  we  shall  sup  in  the  regions  below."^This  was  a 
brave  nation  while  the  laws  of  Lycurgus  were  in  force. 
One  of  them,  when  a  Persian  had  said  to  him  in  conversa- 

*  The  epitaph  in  the  original  is  : 

''il  fe'i/'  iiffuXov  \aKe6atiiovioii  ojt  r^ie 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        66 

tion,  "We  shall  hide  the  sun  from  your  sight  by  the  num. 
ber  of  our  arrows  and  darts,"  replied,  "  We  shall  fight, 
then,  in  the  shade."  Do  I  talk  of  their  men  ?  How  great 
was  that  Laceda3monian  woman,  who  had  sent  her  son  to 
battle,  and  when  she  heard  that  he  was  slain,  said,  "I  bore 
him  for  that  purpose,  that  you  might  have  a  man  who 
durst  die  for  his  country !"  However,  it  is  a  matter  of 
notoriety  that  the  Spartans  were  bold  and  hardy,  for  the 
discipline  of  a  republic  has  great  influence. 

XLIH.  What,  then,  have  we  not  reason  to  admire 
Theodorus  the  Cyrenean,  a  philosoplier  of  no  small  dis- 
tinction, who,  when  Lysimachus  threatened  to  crucify  him, 
bade  him  keep  those  menaces  for  his  courtiers?  "To 
Theodorus  it  makes  no  difference  whether  he  rot  in  the 
air  on  underground."  By  wliich  saying  of  the  philoso- 
pher^'! am  reminded  to  say  something  of  the  custom  of 
func^ral^^and  sepulture,  and  of  funeral  ceremonies,  which 
is,  indeed,  not  a  difticult  subject,  especially  if  we  recollect 
what  has  been  before  said  about  insensibility.  The  opin- 
ion o^r  SocratesC"especting  this  matter  is  clearly  stated  in 
the  book  which  treats  of  his  death,  of  which  we  have  al- 
ready said  so  much ;  for  when  he  had  discussed  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  and  when  the  time  of  his  dying  was 
approaching  rapidlyjbeing  asked  by  Criton  how  he  would 
be  buried,  "I  have  taken  a  great  deal  of  pains,"  saith  he, 
"  my  friends,  to  no  purpose,  for  I  have  not  convinced  our 
Criton  that  I  shall  fly  from  hence,  and  leave  no  part  of 
me  behind/  Notwithstanding,  Criton,  if  you  can  overtake 
me,  wheresoever  you  get  hold  of  me,  bury  me  as  you 
please :  (but  believe  me,  none  of  you  will  be  able  to  catch 
me  when  I  have  flown  away  from  hence.'/ CTliat  was  ex- 
cellently said,  inasmuch  as  he  allows  his  friend  to  do  as 
he  pleased,  and  yet  shows  his  indifference  about  anything 
of  this  kind.) /Diogenes  was  rougher,  though  of  the  same 
opinion  ;  but  in  his  character  of  a  Cynic  he  expressed  him- 
self in  a  somewhat  liarsher  manner;  he  ordered  himself  to 
be  thrown  anywhere  without  being  buried.  And  when  his 
friends  replied, "  What !  to  the  birds  and  beasts  ?"  "  By  no 
means,"  saith  he;  "place  my  staff  near  me,  that  I  may 
drive  them  away."  "  How  can  you  do  that,"  they  answer, 
"  for  you  will  not  perceive  them  ?"     "  How  am  I  then  in- 


5G  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

jured  b;^  being  torn  by  those  animals,  if  I  have  no  sensa^ 
lion?"^7Anaxagoras,  when  he  was  at  the  point  of  death 
at  Lampsacns,  and  was  asked  by  his  friends,  whether,  if 
anything  shonld  happen  to  him,  he  would  not  choose  to 
be  carried  to  Clazomenae,  his  country,  made  this  excellent 
answer,  "  There  is,"  says  he,  "  no  occasion  for  that,  for 
all  places  are  at  an  equal  distance  from  the  infernal  re- 
gions." There  is  one  thing  to  be  observed  with  respect 
to  the  whole  subject  of  burial,  that  it  relates  to  the  body, 
whether  the  soul  live  or  die.  Now,  with  regard  to  the 
body,  it  is  clear  that,  Avhether  the  soul  live  or  die,  that  has 
no  sensation. 

XLIV.  But  all  things  are  full  of  errors.  Achilles  drags 
Hector,  tied  to  his  chariot ;  he  thinks,  I  suppose,  he  tears 
his  flesh,  and  that  Hector  feels  the  pain  of  it ;  therefore, 
he  avenges  himself  on  him,  as  he  imagines.  But  Hecuba 
bewails  this  as  a  sore  misfortune  : 

I  saw  (a  dreadful  sight)  great  Hector  slain, 
Dragg'd  at  Achilles'  car  along  the  plain. 

What  Hector?  or  how  long  w^ill  he  be  Hector?  Accius 
is  better  in  this,  and  Achilles,  too,  is  sometimes  reasonable  : 

I  Hector's  body  to  his  sire  convey 'd, 
Hector  I  sent  to  the  infernal  shade. 

It  was  not  Hector  that  you  dragged  along, but  a  body  that 
had  been  Hector's.  Here  another  starts  from  underground, 
and  will  not  suffer  his  mother  to  sleep : 

To  thee  I  call,  my  once-loved  parent,  hear, 
Nor  longer  with  thy  sleep  relieve  tliy  care  ; 
Thine  eye  which  pities  not  is  closed — arise ; 
Ling'ring  I  wait  the  unpaid  obsequies. 

When  these  verses  are  sung  with  a  slow  and  melancholy 
tune,  so  as  to  affect  the  whole  theatre  with  sadness,  one 
can  scarce  help  thinking  those  unhappy  that  are  unburied : 

Ere  the  devouring  dogs  and  hungry  vultures 

He  is  afraid  he  shall  not  have  the  use  of  his  limbs  so  well 
if  they  are  torn  to  pieces,  but  is  under  no  such  a})prehen- 
sions  if  they  arc  burned  : 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        67 

Nor  leave  my  naked  bones,  ray  poor  remains, 
To  shameful  violence  and  bloody  stains. 

I  do  not  understand  wliat  he  could  fear  who  could  pour 
forth  such  excellent  verses  to  the  sound  of  the  flute.  We 
must,  therefore,  adhere  to  this,  that  nothing  is  to  be  re- 
garded after  we  are  dead,  though  many  people  revenge 
themselves  on  their  dead  enemies.  Thyestes  pours  forth 
several  curses  in  some  good  lines  of  Ennius,  praying,  first 
of  all,  that  Atreus  may  perish  by  a  shipwreck,  which  is 
certainly  a  very  terrible  thing,  for  such  a  death  is  not  free 
from  very  grievous  sensations.  Then  follow  these  un- 
meaning expressions : 

May 
On  the  sharp  rock  his  mangled  carcass  lie, 
'  His  entrails  torn,  to  hungry  birds  a  prey ! 
May  ho  convulsive  writhe  his  bleeding  side, 
And  with  his  clotted  gore  the  stones  be  dyed ! 

llie  rocks  themselves  were  not  more  destitute  of  feeling 
than  he  who  was  hanging  to  them  by  his  side;  though 
Thyestes  imagines  he  is  wishing  him  the  greatest  torture. 
It  would  be  torture,  indeed,  if  he  were  sensible;  but  as  ho 
is  not,  it  can  be  none;  then  how  very  unmeaning  is  this: 

Let  him,  still  hovering  o'er  the  Stygian  Avave, 
Ne'er  reach  the  body's  peaceful  port,  the  grave ! 

You  see  under  what  mistaken  notions  all  this  is  said.  He 
imagines  the  body  has  its  haven,  and  that  the  dead  are  at 
rest  in  their  graves.  Pelops  was  greatly  to  blame  in  not 
having  informed  and  taught  his  son  what  regard  was  due 
to  everytliing. 

XLV.  But  what  occasion  is  there  to  animadvert  on  the 
opinions  of  individuals,  when  we  may  observe  whole  na- 
tions to  fall  into  all  sorts  of  errors?  The  Egyptians  em- 
balm their  dead,  and  keep  them  in  their  houses;  the  Per- 
sians dress  them  over  with  wax,  and  then  bury  them,  that 
they  may  preserve  their  bodies  as  long  as  possible.  It  is 
customary  with  the  Magi  to  bury  none  of  their  order,  un- 
less they  have  been  first  torn  by  wild  beasts.  In  Hyrca- 
nia,  the  people  maintain  dogs  for  the  public  use;  the  no- 
bles have  their  own — and  we  know  that  they  have  a  good 
breed  of  dogs;   but  every  one,  according  to  his  abilitv, 

3* 


58  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

provides  himself  with  some,  in  order  to  be  torn  by  them ; 
and  they  hold  that  to  be  the  best  kind  of  interment.  Chry- 
sippns,  who  is  curious  in  all  kinds  of  historical  facts,  has 
collected  many  other  things  of  this  kind ;  but  some  of  them 
are  so  offensive  as  not  to  admit  of  being  related.  All  that 
has  been  said  of  burying  is  not  worth  our  regard  with  re- 
spect to  ourselves,  though  it  is  not  to  be  neglected  as  to 
our  friends,  provided  we  are  thoroughly  aware  that  the 
dead  are  insensible.  But  the  living,  indeed,  should  con- 
sider what  is  due  to  custom  and  opinion  ;  only  they  should 
at  the  same  time  consider  that  the  dead  are  noways  inter- 
ested in  it.  But  death  truly  is  then  met  with  the  greatest 
tranquillity  when  the  dying  man  can  comfort  himself  with 
his  own  praise.  No  one  dies  too  soon  who  has  finished 
the  course  of  perfect  virtue.  I  myself  have  known  many 
occasions  when  I  have  seemed  in  danger  of  immediate 
death ;  oh !  how  I  wish  it  had  come  to  me !  for  I  have 
gained  nothing  by  the  delay.  I  had  gone  over  and  over 
again  the  duties  of  life ;  nothing  remained  but  to  contend 
with  fortune.  If  reason,  then,  cannot  sufficiently  fortify 
us  to  enable  us  to  feel  a  contempt  for  death,  at  all  events 
let  our  past  life  prove  that  we  have  lived  long  enough,  and 
even  longer  than  was  necessary;  for  notwithstanding  the 
deprivation  of  sense,  the  dead  are  not  without  that  good 
which  peduliarly  belongs  to  them,  namely,  the  praise  and 
glory  which  they  have  acquired,  even  though  they  are  not 
sensible  of  it.  For  although  there  be  nothing  in  glory  to 
make  it  desirable,  yet  it  follows  virtue  as  its  shadow ;  and 
the  genuine  judgment  of  the  multitude  on  good  men,  if 
ever  they  form  any,  is  more  to  their  own  praise  than  of 
any  real  advantage  to  the  dead.  Yet  I  cannot  say,  how- 
ever it  may  be  received,  that  Lycurgus  and  Solon  have  no 
glory  from  their  laws,  and  from  the  political  constitution 
which  they  established  in  their  country;  or  that  Themis- 
tocles  and  Epaminondas  have  not  glory  from  their  martial 
virtue. 

XLVI.  For  Neptune  shall  sooner  bury  Salamis  itself 
with  his  waters  than  the  memory  of  the  trophies  gained 
there ;  and  the  Boeotian  Leuctra  shall  perish  sooner  than 
the  glory  of  that  great  battle.  And  longer  still  sliall  fame 
be  before  it  deserts  Curius,  and  Fabricius,  and  Calatinus, 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  .59 

and  the  two  Scipios,  and  the  two  Africani,  and  Maximus, 
and  Marcellus,  and  Paulus,  and  Cato,  and  Lselius,  and  num- 
berless other  heroes;  and  whoever  has  caught  any  resem- 
bLance  of  them,  not  estimating  it  by  common  fame,  but  by 
the  real  applause  of  good  men,  may  with  confidence,  when 
the  occasion  requires,  approach  death,  on  which  we  are 
sure  that  even  if  the  chief  good  is  not  continued,  at  least 
no  evil  is.  Such  a  man  would  even  wish  to  die  while  in 
prosperity ;  for  all  the  favors  that  could  be  heaped  on  him 
would  not  be  so  agreeable  to  him  as  the  loss  of  them  would 
be  painful.  That  speech  of  the  Laceda3monian  seems  to 
have  the  same  meaning,  who,  when  Diagoras  the  Rhodian, 
who  had  himself  been  a  conqueror  at  the  Olympic  games, 
saw  two  of  his  own  sons  conquerors  there  on  the  same 
day,  approached  the  old  man,  and,  congratulating  him,  said, 
"You  should  die  now,  Diagoras,  for  no  greater  happiness 
can  possibly  await  you."  The  Greeks  look  on  these  as 
great  things;  perhaps  they  think  too  highly  of  them,  or, 
rather,  they  did  so  then.  And  so  he  who  said  this  to  Di- 
agoras, looking  on  it  as  something  very  glorious,  that  three 
men  out  of  one  family  should  have  been  conquerors  there, 
thought  it  could  answer  no  purpose  to  him  to  continue 
any  longer  in  life,  where  he  could  only  be  exposed  to  a  re- 
verse of  fortune. 

I  might  have  given  you  a  sufficient  answer,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  on  this  point,  in  a  few  words,  as  you  had  allowed 
the  dead  were  not  exposed  to  any  positive  evil ;  but  I  have 
spoken  at  greater  length  on  the  subject  for  this  reason,  be- 
cause this  is  our  greatest  consolation  in  the  losing  and  be- 
wailing of  our  friends.  For  we  ought  to  bear  with  mod- 
eration any  grief  which  arises  from  ourselves,  or  is  endured 
on  our  own  account,  lest  we  should  seem  to  be  too  much 
Influenced  by  self-love.  But  should  we  suspect  our  de- 
parted friends  to  be  under  those  evils,  which  they  are  gen- 
erally imagined  to  be,  and  to  be  sensible  of  them,  then  such 
a  suspicion  would  give  us  intolerable  pain ;  and  according- 
ly I  wished,  for  my  own  sake,  to  pluck  up  this  opinion  by 
the  roots,  and  on  that  account  I  have  been  perhaps  some- 
what more  prolix  than  was  necessary. 

XLVII.  A.  More  prolix  than  was  necessary  ?  Certain- 
ly not,  in  my  opinion.     For  I  was  induced,  by  the  former 


60  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

part  of  your  speech,  to  wish  to  die;  but,  by  the  latter, 
sometimes  not  to  be  unwilling,  and  at  others  to  be  wholly 
indifferent  about  it.  But  the  effect  of  your  whole  argu- 
ment is,  that  I  am  convinced  that  deatii  ought  not  to  be 
classed  among  the  evils. 

M.  Do  you,  then,  expect  that  I  am  to  give  you  a  regu- 
lar peroration,  like  the  rhetoricians,  or  shall  I  forego  that 
art? 

A.  I  would  not  have  you  give  over  an  art  which  you 
have  set  off  to  such  advantage ;  and  you  w^ere  in  the  right 
to  do  so,  foi-,  to  speak  the  truth,  it  also  has  set  you  oft". 
But  what  is  that  peroration?  For  I  should  be  glad  to 
hear  it,  whatever  it  is. 

M.  It  is  customary,  in  the  schools,  to  produce  the  opin- 
ions of  the  immortal  Gods  on  death;  nor  are  these  opin- 
ions the  fruits  of  the  imagination  alone  of  the  lecturers, 
but  they  have  the  authority  of  Herodotus  and  many  oth- 
ers. Cleobis  and  Biton  are  the  first  they  mention,  sons  of 
the  Argive  priestess;  the  story  is  a  well-known  one.  As  it 
was  necessary  that  she  should  be  drawn  in  a  chariot  to  a 
certain  annual  sacrifice,  which  was  solemnized  at  a  temple 
some  considerable  distance  from  the  town,  and  the  cattle 
that  were  to  draw  the  chariot  had  not  arrived,  those  two 
young  men  whom  I  have  just  mentioned,  pulling  off  their 
garments,  and  anointing  their  bodies  with  oil,  harnessed 
themselves  to  the  yoke.  And  in  this  manner  the  priestess 
was  conveyed  to  the  temple ;  and  when  the  chariot  had  ar- 
rived at  the  proper  place,  she  is  said  to  have  entreated  the 
Goddess  to  bestow  on  them,  as  a  reward  for  their  piety, 
the  greatest  gift  that  a  God  could  confer  on  man.  And 
the  young  men,  after  having  feasted  with  their  mother,  fell 
asleep ;  and  in  the  morning  they  were  found  dead.  Tro- 
phonius  and  Agamedes  are  said  to  have  put  up  the  same 
petition,  for  they,  having  built  a  temple  to  Apollo  at  Del- 
phi, offered  suppHcations  to  the  God,  and  desired  of  him 
some  extraordinary  reward  for  their  care  and  labor,  par- 
ticularizing nothing,  but  asking  for  whatever  was  best  for 
men.  Accordingly,  Apollo  signified  to  them  that  he  would 
bestow  it  on  them  in  three  days,  and  on  the  third  day  at 
daybreak  they  were  found  dead.  And  so  they  say  that 
this  was  a  formal  decision  pronounced  by  that  God  to 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.  61 

whom  the  rest  of  the  deities  have  assigned  the  province  of 
divining  with  an  accuracy  superior  to  that  of  all  the  rest. 
XL VIII.  There  is  also  a  story  told  of  Silenus,  who, 
when  taken  prisoner  by  Midas,  is  said  to  have  made  him 
this  jDresent  for  his  ransom — namely,  that  he  informed 
him'  that  never  to  have  been  born  was  by  far  the  great- 
est blessing  that  could  happen  to  man ;  and  that  the  next 
best  thing  was  to  die  very  soon ;  which  very  opinion  Eu- 
ripides makes  use  of  in  his  Cresphontes,  saying. 

When  man  is  born,  'tis  fit,  with  solemn  sliow, 
We  speak  our  sense  of  liis  approacliing  woe  ; 
Witli  other  gestures  and  a  different  eye, 
Prochiim  our  pleasure  when  he's  bid  to  die.'^ 

There  is  something  like  this  in  Grantor's  Consolation  ;  for 
he  says  that  Terina3us  oi  Elysia,  when  he  was  bitterly  la- 
menting the  loss  of  his  son,  came  to  a  place  of  divination 
to  be  informed  why  he  was  visited  with  so  great  affliction, 
and  received  in  his  tablet  these  three  verses : 

Thou  fool,  to  murmur  at'Euthynous'  death! 
The  blooming  youth  to  fate  resigns  his  breath : 
The  fate,  whereon  your  happiness  depends, 
At  once  the  parent  and  the  son  befriends.^ 

On  these  and  similar  authorities  they  affirm  that  the  ques- 
tion has  been  determined  by  the  Gods.  Nay,  more ;  Al- 
cidamas,  an  ancient  rhetorician  of  the  very  highest  reputa- 
tion, wrote  even  in  praise  of  death,  which  he  endeavored 
to  establish  by  an  enumeration  of  the  evils  of  life;  and 
his  Dissertation  has  a  great  deal  of  eloquence  in  it;  but 

^  This  was  expressed  in  the  Greek  verses, 

'Apx'/r  fJiiv  fii^  (pvvat  inixOoviottriv  apiarov, 
(piiVTa  d'  OTTO)?  wKicTTa  7ru\a9  'Aidiio  wepJjjat* 

which  by  some  authors  are  attributed  to  Homer. 

^  This  is  the  first  fragment  of  the  Cresphontes. — Ed.  Var.  vii.,  p.  594. 

"Edei  flip  rjjua?  cruWoyov  Troiov/jitvov^ 
Toi/  ^I'w-ra  Opt)vel^v,  e\^  oa   epxerat  kukcx. 
Tov  6'  av  OavouTa  Ka't  irovcov  ireTrav/Jievov 
XaipovTui  eu(pr]/j.o'ivTav  eKTrefineiv  boixatv 

^  The  Greek  verses  are  quoted  by  Plutarch : 

Hirov  vrjTTie,  iiXiOtoi  cppeve^  avdpwv 
EvOui/oo^  Keirai  ixoipibiw  OavuTW 
OvK  r]v  7ap  ^weiv  KaXov  auTi^  out*-  "yovi'vJt. 


62  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

he  was  unacquainted  with  the  more  refined  argnments  of 
the  philosophers.  By  the  orators,  indeed,  to  die  for  our 
country  is  always  considered  not  only  as  glorious,  but 
even  as  happy :  tliey  go  back  as  far  as  Erechtheus,^  whose 
very  daughters  underwent  death,  for  the  safety  of  their 
fellow-citizens :  they  instance  Codrus,  who  threw  himself 
hito  the  midst  of  his  enemies,  dressed  like  a  common  man, 
that  his  royal  robes  might  not  betray  him,  because  the 
oracle  had  declared  the  Athenians  conquerors,  if  their 
king  was  slain.  Menoeceus^  is  not  overlooked  by  them, 
who,  in  compliance  with  the  injunctions  of  an  oracle, 
freely  shed  his  blood  for  his  country.  Iphigenia  order- 
ed herself  to  be  conveyed  to  Aulis,  to  be  sacrificed,  that 
her  blood  might  be  the  cause  of  spilling  that  of  her  ene- 
mies. 

XLIX.  From  hence  they  proceed  to  instances  of  a  fresh- 
er date.  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton  are  in  everybody's 
mouth ;  the  memory  of  Leonidas  the  Lacedaemonian  and 
Epaminondas  the  Theban  is  as  fresh  as  ever.  Those  phi- 
losophers were  not  acquainted  with  the  many  instances  in 
our  country — to  give  a  list  of  whom  would  take  up  too 
much  time  —  who,  we  see,  considered  death  desirable  as 
long  as  it  was  accompanied  with  honor.  But,  notwith- 
standing this  is  the  correct  view  of  the  case,  we  must  use 
much  persuasion,  speak  as  if  we  were  endued  with  some 
higher  authority,  in  order  to  bring  men  to  begin  to  wish 
to  die,  or  cease  to  be  afraid  of  death.  For  if  that  last  day 
does  not  occasion  an  entire  extinction,  but  a  change  of 
abode  only,  what  can  be  more  desirable  ?  And  if  it,  on 
the  other  hand,  destroys,  and  absolutely  puts  an  end  to  us, 
what  can  be  preferable  to  the  having  a  deep  sleep  fall 
on  us,  in  the  midst  of  the  fatigues  of  life,  and  being  thus 
overtaken,  to  sleep  to  eternity  ?     And,  should  this  really 

*  This  refers  to  the  story  that  when  Eumolpns,  the  son  of  Neptune, 
whose  assistance  tlie  Kleusinians  had  called  in  against  the  Athenians,  had 
been  slain  by  the  Athenians,  an  oracle  demanded  the  sacrifice  of  one  of 
the  daughters  of  Erechtheus,  the  King  of  Athens.  And  when  one  was 
drawn  by  lot,  the  others  voluntarily  accompanied  her  to  death. 

^  Mcnoeceus  was  son  of  Creon,  and  in  the  war  of  the  Argives  against 
Thebes,  Teresias  declared  that  theTlicbans  should  conquer  if  Menoeccus 
would  sacrifice  himself  for  his  country;  and  accordingly  he  killed  him- 
self outside  the  gates  of  Thebes. 


ON  THE  CONTEMPT  OF  DEATH.        63 

be  the  case,  then  Ennius's  language  is  more  consistent 
with  wisdom  than  Solon's ;  for  our  Ennius  says, 

Let  none  bestow  upon  my  passing  bier 
One  needless  sigh  or  unavailing  tear. 

But  the  wise  Solon  says, 

Let  me  not  unlamented  die,  but  o'er  my  bier 
Burst  forth  the  tender  sigh,  the  friendly  tear.* 

But  let  us,  if  indeed  it  should  be  our  fate  to  know  the 
time  which  is  appointed  by  the  Gods  for  us  to  die,  prepare 
ourselves  for  it  with  a  cheerful  and  grateful  mind,  think- 
ing ourselves  like  men  W'ho  are  delivered  from  a  jail,  and 
released  from  their  fetters,  for  the  purpose  of  going  back 
to  our  eternal  habitation,  which  may  be  more  emphatically 
called  our  ow^n ;  or  else  to  be  divested  of  all  sense  and 
trouble.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  should  have  no  notice 
given  us  of  this  decree,  yet  let  us  cultivate  such  a  disposi- 
tion as  to  look  on  that  formidable  hour  of  death  as  happy 
for  us,  though  shocking  to  our  friends ;  and  let  us  never 
imagine  anything  to  be  an  evil  which  is  an  appointment 
of  the  immortal  Gods,  or  of  nature,  the  common  parent  of 
all.  For  it  is  not  by  hazard  or  without  design  that  we 
have  been  born  and  situated  as  we  have.  On  the  contrary, 
beyond  all  doubt  there  is  a  certain  power  which  consults 
the  happiness  of  human  nature  ;  and  this  would  neither 
have  produced  nor  provided  for  a  being  which,  after  hav- 
ing gone  through  the  labors  of  life,  was  to  fall  into  eternal 
misery  by  death.  Let  us  rather  infer  that  we  have  a  re- 
treat and  haven  prepared  for  us,  which  I  wish  we  could 
crowd  all  sail  and  arrive  at;  but  though  the  winds  should 
not  serve,  and  we  should  be  driven  back,  yet  we  shall  to  a 
certainty  arrive  at  that  point  eventually,  though  somewhat 
later.  But  how  can  that  be  miserable  for  one  which  all 
must  of  necessity  undergo?  I  have  given  you  a  perora- 
tion, that  you  might  not  think  I  had  overlooked  or  neglect- 
ed anything. 

A.  I   am   persuaded  you  have   not;   and,  indeed,  that 
peroration  has  confirmed  me. 

*  The  Greek  is, 

IJ.{]6e  fJioi  a(cXai/o-TOf  ddvaroi  noXot,  uWa  (piXoiat 
Trott](TaiiJ.t  OavMV  aXyea  Kal  o-roi/ax^f. 


64  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

M.  I  am  glad  it  has  had  that  effect.  But  it  is  now 
time  to  consult  our  health.  To-morrow,  and  all  the  time 
we  continue  in  this  Tusculan  villa,  let  us  consider  this  sub- 
ject; and  especially  those  portions  of  it  which  may  ease 
our  pain,  alleviate  our  fears,  and  lessen  our  desires,  which 
is  the  greatest  advantage  we  can  reap  from  the  whole  of 
philosophy. 


BOOK  11. 

ON   BEARING    PAIN. 

T.  N'eoptolemus,  in  Ennius,  indeed,  says  that  the  study 
of  philosophy  was  expedient  for  him;  but  that  it  re- 
quired limiting  to  a  few  subjects,  for  that  to  give  himself 
np  entirely  to  it  was  what  he  did  not  approve  of.  And 
for  my  part,  Brutus,  I  am  perfectly  persuaded  that  it  is 
expedient  for  me  to  philosophize ;  for  what  can  I  do  bet- 
ter, especially  as  I  have  no  regular  occupation  ?  But  I 
am  not  for  limiting  my  philosophy  to  a  few  subjects,  as 
he  does;  for  philosophy  is  a  matter  in  which  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  acquire  a  little  knowledge  without  acquainting 
yourself  with  many,  or  all  its  branches,  nor  can  you  well 
take  a  few  subjects  without  selecting  them  out  of  a  great 
number;  nor  can  any  one,  who  has  acquired  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  few  points,  avoid  endeavoring  with  the  same 
eagerness  to  understand  more.  But  still,  in  a  busy  life, 
and  in  one  mainly  occupied  with  military  matters,  such  as 
that  of  Neoptolemus  was  at  that  time,  even  that  limited 
degree  of  acquaintance  with  philosophy  may  be  of  great 
use,  and  may  yield  fruit,  not  perhaps  so  plentiful  as  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  whole  of  philosophy,  but  yet 
such  as  in  some  degree  may  at  times  deliver  us  from  the 
dominion  of  our  desires, our  sorrows,  and  our  fears;  just 
as  the  effect  of  that  discussion  which  we  lately  maintained 
in  my  Tusculan  villa  seemed  to  be  that  a  great  contempt 
of  death  was  engendered,  which  contempt  is  of  no  small 
efficacy  towards  delivering  the  mind  from  fear;  for  who- 
ever dreads  what  cannot  be  avoided  can  by  no  means  live 
with  a  quiet  and  tranquil  mind.     But  he  who  is  under  no 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  65 

fear  of  death,  not  only  because  it  is  a  thing  absolutely  in- 
evitable, but  also  because  he  is  persuaded  that  death  itself 
hath  nothing  terrible  in  it,  provides  himself  with  a  very 
great  resource  towards  a  happy  life.  However,  I  am  not 
ignorant  that  many  will  argue  strenuously  against  us; 
and,  indeed,  that  is  a  thing  which  can  never  be  avoided, 
except  by  abstaining  from  writing  at  all.  For  if  my 
Orations,  which  were  addressed  to  the  judgment  and  ap- 
probation of  the  people  (for  that  is  a  popular  art,  and  the 
object  of  oratory  is  popular  applause),  have  been  criti- 
cised by  some  people  who  are  incUned  to  withhold  tiieir 
praise  from  everything  but  what  they  are  persuaded  they 
can  attain  to  themselves,  and  who  limit  their  ideas  of 
good  speaking  by  the  hopes  which  they  conceive  of  what 
they  themselves  may  attain  to,  and  who  declare,  when 
they  are  overwhelmed  with  a  flow  of  words  and  sen- 
tences, that  they  prefer  the  utmost  poverty  of  thought 
and  expression  to  that  plenty  and  copiousness  (from 
which  arose  the  Attic  kind  of  oratory,  which  they  who  pro- 
fessed it  were  strangers  to,  though  they  have  now  been 
some  time  silenced,  and  laughed  out  of  the  very  courts  of 
justice),  what  may  I  not  expect,  when  at  present  I  cannot 
have  the  least  countenance  from  the  people  by  whom  I 
used  to  be  upheld  before?  For  philosophy  is  satisfied 
w^ith  a  few  judges,  and  of  her  own  accord  industriously 
avoids  the  multitude,  who  are  jealous  of  it,  and  utterly 
displeased  with  it ;  so  that,  should  any  one  undertake  to 
cry  down  the  whole  of  it,  he  would  have  the  people  on  his 
side ;  while,  if  he  should  attack  that  school  which  I  par- 
ticularly profess,  he  would  have  great  assistance  from 
those  of  the  other  philosophers. 

II.  But  I  have  answered  the  detractors  of  philosophy 
in  general,  in  my  Hortensius.  And  what  I  had  to  say  in 
favor  of  the  Academics,  is,  I  think,  explained  with  suffi- 
cient accuracy  in  my  four  books  of  the  Academic  Ques- 
tion. 

But  yet  I  am  so  far  from  desiring  that  no  one  should 
write  against  m.e,  that  it  is  what  I  most  earnestly  wish ; 
for  philosophy  would  never  have  been  in  such  esteem  in 
Greece  itself,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  strength  which  it 
acquired  from  the  contentions  and   disputations  of  the 


66  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

most  learned  men ;  and  therefore  I  recommend  all  men 
who  have  abilities  to  follow  my  advice  to  snatch  this  art 
also  from  declining  Greece,  and  to  transport  it  to  this 
city;  as  our  ancestors  by  their  study  and  industry  have 
imported  all  their  other  arts  which  were  worth  having. 
Thus  the  praise  of  oratory,  raised  from  a  low  degree,  is 
arrived  at  such  perfection  that  it  must  now  decline,  and, 
as  is  the  nature  of  all  things,  verge  to  its  dissolution  in  a 
very  short  time.  Let  ])hilosophy,  then,  derive  its  birth  in 
Latin  language  from  this  time,  and  let  us  lend  it  our  as- 
sistance, and  bear  patiently  to  be  contradicted  and  re- 
futed; and  altliough  those  men  may  dislike  such  treat- 
ment who  are  bound  and  devoted  to  certain  predeter- 
mined opinions,  and  are  under  such  obligations  to  main- 
tain them  that  they  are  forced,  for  the  sake  of  consist- 
ency, to  adhere  to  them  even  though  they  do  not  them- 
selves wholly  approve  of  them ;  we,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  pursue  only  probabilities,  and  who  cannot  go  beyond 
that  which  seems  really  likely,  can  confute  others  with- 
out obstinacy,  and  are  prepared  to  be  confuted  ourselves 
without  resentment.  Besides,  if  these  studies  are  ever 
brought  home  to  us,  we  shall  not  want  even  Greek  libra- 
ries, in  which  there  is  an  infinite  number  of  books,  by 
reason  of  the  multitude  of  authors  among  them  ;  for  it  is 
a  common  practice  with  many  to  repeat  the  same  things 
which  have  been  written  by  others,  which  serves  no  pur- 
pose but  to  stuff  their  shelves;  and  this  will  be  our  case, 
too,  if  many  apply  themselves  to  this  study. 

in.  But  let  us  excite  those,  if  possible,  who  have  had 
a  liberal  education,  and  are  masters  of  an  elegant  style, 
and  who  philosophize  with  reason  and  method. 

For  there  is  a  certain  class  of  them  who  would  willing- 
ly be  called  philosophers,  whose  books  in  or.r  language 
are  said  to  be  numerous,  and  which  I  do  not  despise;  for, 
indeed,  I  never  read  them:  but  still,  because  the  authors 
themselves  declare  that  they  wn-ite  without  any  regularity, 
or  method,  or  elegance,  or  ornament,  I  do  not  care  to  read 
what  must  be  so  void  of  entertainment.  There  is  no 
one  in  the  least  acquainted  with  literature  who  does  not 
know  the  style  and  sentiments  of  that  school ;  wherefore, 
since  they  arc  at  no  pains  to  express  themselves  well,  I 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  67 

do  not  see  why  they  should  be  read  by  anybody  except 
by  one  another.  Let  them  read  them,  if  they  please,  who 
are  of  the  same  opinions;  for  in  the  same  manner  as  all 
men  read  Plato  and  the  other  Socratics,  with  those  who 
sprang  from  them,  even  those  who  do  not  agree  with 
their  opinions,  or  are  very  indifferent  about  them;  but 
scarcely  any  one  except  tlieir  own  disciples  take  Epicurus 
or  Metrodorus  into  their  hands;  so  they  alone  read  these 
Latin  books  who  tliink  that  the  arguments  contained  in 
them  are  sound.  But,  in  my  opinion,  whatever  is  pub- 
lished should  be  recommended  to  the  reading  of  every 
man  of  learning;  and  though  we  may  not  succeed  in  this 
ourselves,  yet  nevertheless  we  must  be  sensible  that  this 
ought  to  be  the  aim  of  every  writer.  And  on  this  ac- 
count I  have  always  been  pleased  with  the  custom  of  the 
Peripatetics  and  Academics,  of  disputing  on  both  sides  of 
the  question;  not  solely  from  its  being  the  only  method 
of  discovering  what  is  probable  on  every  subject,  but  also 
because  it  affords  the  greatest  scope  for  practising  elo- 
quence; a  method  that  Aristotle  first  made  use  of,  and 
afterward  all  the  Aristotelians ;  and  in  our  own  memory 
Philo,  whom  we  have  often  heard,  appointed  one  time  to 
treat  of  the  precepts  of  the  rhetoricians,  and  another  for 
philosophical  discussion,  to  which  custom  I  was  brought 
to  conform  by  my  friends  at  my  Tusculuin ;  and  accord- 
ingly our  leisure  time  was  spent  in  this  manner.  And 
therefore,  as  yesterday  before  noon  we  applied  ourselves 
to  speaking,  and  in  the  afternoon  ^vent  down  into  the 
Academy,  the  discussions  which  were  held  there  I  have 
acquainted  you  with,  not  in  the  manner  of  a  narration,  but 
in  almost  the  very  same  words  which  were  employed  in 
the  debate. 

IV.  Tlie  discourse,  then,  was  introduced  in  this  manner 
while  we  were  walking,  and  it  was  commenced  by  some 
such  an  opening  as  this : 

A.  It  is  not  to  be  expressed  how  much  I  was  delighted, 
or  rather  edified,  by  your  discourse  of  yesterday.  For 
although  I  am  conscious  to  myself  that  I  have  never  been 
too  fond  of  life,  yet  at  times,  when  I  have  considered  that 
there  would  be  an  end  to  this  life,  and  that  I  must  some 
time  or  other  part  with  all  its  good  things,  a  certain  dread 


68  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

and  uneasiness  used  to  intrude  itself  on  my  thoughts; 
but  now,  believe  me,  I  am  so  freed  from  that  kind  of  un- 
easiness that  there  is  nothing  that  I  think  less  worth  any 
regard. 

M.  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  that,  for  it  is  the  effect 
of  philosophy,  which  is  the  medicine  of  our  souls ;  it  ban- 
ishes all  groundless  apprehensions,  frees  us  from  desires, 
and  drives  away  fears :  but  it  has  not  the  same  influence 
over  all  men ;  it  is  of  very  great  influence  when  it  falls  in 
with  a  disposition  well  adapted  to  it.  For  not  only  does 
Fortune,  as  the  old  proverb  says,  assist  the  bold,  but  rea- 
son does  so  in  a  still  greater  degree ;  for  it,  by  certain 
precepts,  as  it  were,  strengthens  even  courage  itself.  You 
were  born  naturally  great  and  soaring,  and  with  a  con- 
tempt for  all  things  which  pertain  to  man  alone ;  there- 
fore a  discourse  against  death  took  easy  possession  of  a 
brave  soul.  But  do  you  imagine  that  these  same  argu- 
ments have  any  force  with  those  very  persons  who  have 
invented,  and  canvassed,  and  published  them,  excepting  in- 
deed some  very  few  particular  persons  ?  For  how  few 
l^hilosophers  will  you  meet  with  whose  life  and  manners 
are  conformable  to  the  dictates  of  reason  !  who  look  on 
their  profession,  not  as  a  means  of  displaying  their  learn- 
ing, but  as  a  rule  for  their  own  practice  !  who  follow  their 
own  precepts,  and  comply  with  their  own  decrees !  You 
may  see  some  of  such  levity  and  such  vanity,  that  it  would 
have  been  better  for  them  to  have  been  ignorant;  some 
covetous  of  money,  some  others  eager  for  glory,  many 
slaves  to  their  lusts ;  so  that  their  discourses  and  their 
actions  are  most  strangely  at  variance ;  than  which  noth- 
ing in  my  opinion  can  be  more  unbecoming :  for  just  as 
if  one  who  professed  to  teach  grammar  should  speak  with 
impropriety,  or  a  master  of  music  sing  out  of  tune,  such 
conduct  has  the  worst  appearance  in  these  men,  because 
they  blunder  in  the  very  particular  with  which  they  pro- 
fess that  they  are  well  acquainted.  So  a  philosopher  who 
errs  in  the  conduct  of  his  life  is  the  more  infamous  be- 
cause he  is  erring  in  the  very  thing  which  he  pretends  to 
teach,  and,  while  he  lays  down  rules  to  regulate  life  by,  is 
irregular  in  his  own  life. 

V.  A.  Should  this  be  the  case,  is  it  not  to  be  feared  that 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  69 

you  arc  dressing  up  philosophy  in  false  colors  ?  For  what 
stronger  argument  can  there  be  that  it  is  of  little  use  than 
that  some  very  profound  philosophers  live  in  a  discredita- 
ble manner? 

31.  That,  indeed,  is  no  argument  at  all,  for  as  all  tlie 
fields  Avhich  are  cultivated  are  not  fruitful  (and  this  senti- 
ment of  Accius  is  false,  and  asserted  without  any  founda- 
tion, 

The  ground  yon  sow  on  is  of  small  avail ; 
To  yield  a  crop  good  seed  can  never  fail), 

it  is  not  every  mind  which  has  been  properly  cultivated 
that  produces  fruit;  and,  to  go  on  with  the  comparison,  as 
a  field,  although  it  may  be  naturally  fruitful,  cannot  pro- 
duce a  crop  without  dressing,  so  neither  can  the  mind 
without  education  ;  such  is  the  weakness  of  either  with- 
out the  other.  Whereas  philosophy  is  the  culture  of  the 
mind :  this  it  is  which  plucks  up  vices  by  the  roots ;  pre- 
pares the  mind  for  the  receiving  of  seeds ;  commits  them 
to  it,  or,  as  I  may  say,  sows  them,  in  the  hope  that,  when 
come  to  maturity,  they  may  produce  a  plentiful  harvest. 
Let  us  proceed,  then,  as  we  began.  Say,  if  you  please, 
what  shall  be  the  subject  of  our  disputation. 

A.  I  look  on  pain  to  be  the  greatest  of  all  evils. 

3L  What,  even  greater  than  infamy? 

A.  I  dare  not  indeed  assert  that ;  and  I  blush  to  think 
I  am  so  soon  driven  from  my  ground. 

M.  You  would  have  had  greater  reason  for  blushing 
had  you  persevered  in  it ;  for  what  is  so  unbecoming — 
what  can  appear  worse  to  you,  than  disgrace,  wickedness, 
immorality?  To  avoid  which,  what  pain  is  there  which 
we  ouglit  not  (I  will  not  say  to  avoid  shirking,  but  even) 
of  our  own  accord  to  encounter,  and  undergo,  and  even  to 
court? 

A.  I  am  entirely  of  that  opinion;  but, notwithstanding 
that  pain  is  not  the  greatest  evil,  yet  surely  it  is  an  evil. 

31.  Do  you  perceive,  then,  how  much  of  the  terror  of 
pain  you  liave  given  up  on  a  small  hint? 

A.  I  see  that  plainly;  but  I  should  be  glad  to  give  up 
more  of  it. 

3f.  I  will  endeavor  to  make  you  do  so;  but  it  is  a  great 


VO  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

undertaking,  and  I  must  have  a  disposition  on  your  part 
which  is  not  inclined  to  offer  any  obstacles. 

A.  You  shall  have  such :  for  as  I  behaved  yesterday,  so 
now  I  will  follow  reason  wherever  she  leads. 

VI.  M.  Fii'st,  then,  I  Avill  speak  of  the  weakness  of  many 
philosophers,  and  those,  too,  of  various  sects ;  the  head  of 
whom,  both  in  authority  and  antiquity,  was  Aristippus, 
the  pupil  of  Socrates,  who  hesitated  not  to  say  that  pain 
was  the  greatest  of  all  evils.  And  after  him  Epicurus 
easily  gave  in  to  this  effeminate  and  enervated  doctrine. 
After  him  Hieronymus  the  Rhodian  said,  that  to  be  with- 
out pain  was  the  cliief  good,  so  great  an  evil  did  pain  ap- 
pear to  him  to  be.  Tlie  rest,  with  the  exceptions  of  Zeno, 
Aristo,  Pyrrho,  were  pretty  much  of  the  same  opinion 
that  you  were  of  just  now  —  that  it  was  indeed  an  evil, 
but  that  tiiere  wero  many  worse.  When,  then,  nature  her- 
self, and  a  certain  generous  feeling  of  virtue,  at  once  pre- 
vents you  from  persisting  in  the  assertion  that  pain  is  the 
chief  evil,  and  when  you  were  driven  from  such  an  opin- 
ion when  disgrace  was  contrasted  with  pain,  shall  philoso- 
phy, the  preceptress  of  life,  cling  to  this  idea  for  so  many 
ages?  What  duty  of  life,  what  praise,  what  reputation, 
would  be  of  such  consequence  that  a  man  should  be  desir- 
ous of  gaining  it  at  the  expense  of  submitting  to  bodily 
pain,  when  he  has  persuaded  himself  that  pain  is  the 
greatest  evil?  On  the  other  side,  what  disgrace,  Avhat  ig- 
nominy, would  he  not  submit  to  that  he  might  avoid  pain, 
when  persuaded  that  it  was  the  greatest  of  evils?  Be- 
sides, v/hat  person,  if  it  be  only  true  that  pain  is  the  great- 
est of  evils,  is  not  miserable,  not  only  when  he  actually 
feels  pain,  but  also  whenever  he  is  aware  that  it  may  be- 
fall him.  And  who  is  there  whom  pain  may  not  befall? 
So  that  it  is  clear  that  there  is  absolutely  no  one  who  can 
possibly  be  happy.  Metrodorus,  indeed,  thinks  that  man 
perfectly  happy  whose  body  is  free  from  all  disorders,  and 
who  has  an  assurance  that  it  will  always  continue  so;  but 
who  is  there  who  can  be  assured  of  that? 

VII.  But  Epicurus,  indeed,  says  such  things  that  it 
should  seem  that  his  design  was  only  to  make  people 
laugh ;  for  lie  affirms  somewhere  that  if  a  wise  man  were 
to  be  burned  or  put  to  the  torture  —  you  expect,  perhaps, 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  11 

that  he  is  going  to  say  he  would  bear  it,  he  would  support 
himself  under  it  with  resolution,  he  would  not  yield  to  it 
(and  that,  by  Hercules  !  would  be  very  commendable,  and 
worthy  of  that  very  Hercules  whom  I  have  just  invoked) : 
but  even  this  will  not  satisfy  Epicurus,  that  robust  and 
hardy  man  !  No;  his  wise  man,  even  if  he  were  in  Phal- 
aris's  bull,  would  say.  How  sweet  it  is  !  how  little  do  I 
regard  it !  What,  sweet  ?  Is  it  not  sufficient,  if  it  is  not 
disagreeable  ?  But  those  very  men  who  deny  pain  to  be 
an  evil  are  not  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  it  is  agreeable 
to  any  one  to  be  tormented ;  they  rather  say  that  it  is 
cruel,  or  hard  to  bear,  afflicting,  unnatural,  but  still  not  an 
evil:  while  this  man  who  says  that  it  is  the  only  evil,  and 
the  very  worst  of  all  evils,  yet  thinks  that  a  wise  man 
would  pronounce  it  sweet.  I  do  not  require  of  you  to 
speak  of  pain  in  the  same  woixls  which  Epicurus  uses — a 
man,  as  you  know^,  devoted  to  pleasure :  he  may  make  no 
difference,  if  he  pleases,  between  Phalaris's  bull  and  his 
own  bed;  but  I  cannot  allow  the  wise  man  to  be  so  indif- 
ferent about  pain.  If  he  bears  it  with  courage,  it  is  suffi- 
cient: that  he  should  rejoice  in  it,  I  do  not  expect;  for 
pain  is,  beyond  all  question,  sharp,  bitter,  against  nature, 
hard  to  submit  to  and  to  bear.  Observe  Philoctetes:  We 
may  allow  him  to  lament,  for  he  saw  Hercules  himself 
groaning  loudly  through  extremity  of  pain  on  Mount  QEta. 
The  arrows  with  which  Hercules  presented  hiui  were  then 
no  consolation  to  him,  when 

The  viper's  bite,  impregnating  liis  veins 
With  poison,  rack'd  him  with  its  bitter  pains. 

And  therefore  he  cries  out,  desiring  help,  and  wishing  to 
die. 

Oh  tliat  some  friendly  hand  its  aid  would  lend, 
My  body  from  this  rock's  vast  height  to  send 
Into  the  briny  deep  !   I'm  all  on  fire, 
And  by  this  fatal  wound  must  soon  expire. 

It  is  hard  to  say  that  the  man  who  was  obliged  to  cry  out 
in  this  manner  was  not  oppressed  with  evil,  and  great  evil, 
too. 

VIII.  But  let  us  observe  Hercules  himself,  who  was  sub- 
dued by  pain  at  the  very  time  when  he  was  on  the  point 


V2  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

of  attaining  immortality  by  death.  What  words  does 
Sophocles  here  put  in  his  mouth,  in  his  Trachinite  ?  who, 
when  Deianira  had  put  upon  him  a  tunic  dyed  in  the  cen- 
taur's blood,  and  it  stuck  to  his  entrails,  says. 

What  toitnves  I  endure  no  words  can  tell, 
Far  greater  these,  than  those  which  erst  befell 
From  the  dire  terror  of  thy  consort,  Jove — 
E'en  stern  Eurystheus'  dire  command  above ; 
Tliis  of  thy  daughter,  OEneus,  is  the  fruit, 
Beguiling  me  with  her  envcnom'd  suit, 
Whose  close  embrace  doth  on  my  entrails  prey, 
Consuming  life ;  my  lungs  forbid  to  play ; 
The  blood  forsakes  ray  veins  ;  my  manly  heart 
Forgets  to  beat ;  enervated,  each  part 
Neglects  its  office,  while  my  fiital  doom 
Proceeds  ignobly  from  the  weaver's  loom. 
The  hand  of  foe  ne'er  hurt  me,  nor  the  fierce 
Giant  issuing  from  his  parent  earth. 
Ne'er  could  the  Centaur  such  a  blow  enforce, 
No  barbarous  foe,  nor  all  the  Grecian  force ; 
This  arm  no  savage  people  could  withstand, 
Whose  realms  I  traversed  to  reform  the  land. 
Thus,  though  I  ever  bore  a  manly  heart, 
I  fall  a  victim  to  a  woman's  art. 
IX.  Assist,  my  son,  if  thou  that  name  dost  hear, 

My  groans  preferring  to  thy  mother's  tear : 
Convey  her  here,  if,  in  thy  pious  heart. 
Thy  mother  shares  not  an  unequal  part : 
Proceed,  be  bold,  thy  father's  fate  bemoan, 
Nations  will  join,  you  will  not  weep  alone. 
Oh,  what  a  sight  is  this  same  briny  source, 
Unknown  before,  through  all  my  labors'  course ! 
That  virtue,  which  could  brave  each  toil  but  late^ 
With  woman's  weakness  now  bewails  its  fate. 
Approach,  my  son  ;   behold  thy  father  laid, 
A  wither'd  carcass  that  implores  thy  aid ; 
Let  all  behold :  and  thou,  imperious  Jove, 
On  me  direct  thy  lightning  from  above : 
Now  all  its  force  the  poison  doth  assume. 
And  my  burnt  entrails  with  its  flame  consume. 
Crestfallen,  unembraced,  I  now  let  fall 
Listless,  those  hands  that  lately  conquer'd  all ; 
When  the  Nemrcan  lion  own'd  their  force, 
And  he  indignant  fell  a  breathless  corse ; 
The  serpent  slew,  of  the  Lernean  lake. 
As  did  the  Hydra  of  its  force  ])artake: 
]iy  this,  too,  fell  the  Erymanthian  boar: 
E'en  Cerberus  did  his  weak  strength  deplore. 


ON   BEARING  PAIN.  73 

This  sinewy  ann  did  OA'ercome  with  ease 
That  dragon,  guardian  of  the  Golden  Fleece. 
My  many  conquests  let  some  others  trace  ; 
It's  mine  to  say,  I  never  knew  disgrace.  ^ 

Can  we,  then,  despise  pain,  when  we  see  Hercules  himself 
giving  vent  to  his  expressions  of  agony  with  such  impa- 
tience ? 

X.  Let  us  see  what  ^schylus  says,  who  was  not  only 
a  poet,  but  a  Pythagorean  philosopher  also,  for  that  is  the 
account  which  you  have  received  of  him;  how  doth  he 
make  Prometheus  bear  the  pain  he  suffered  for  the  Lem- 
nian  theft,  when  he  clandestinely  stole  away  the  celestial 
fire,  and  bestowed  it  on  men,  and  was  severely  punished 
by  Jupiter  for  the  theft.  Fastened  to  Mount  Caucasus, 
he  speaks  thus : 

Thou  heav'n-born  race  of  Titans  here  fast  bound, 
Behold  thy  brother!     As  the  sailors  sound 
With  care  the  bottom,  and  their  ships  confine 
To  some  safe  shore,  with  anchor  and  with  line ; 
So,  by  Jove's  dread  decree,  the  God  of  fire 
Confines  me  here  the  victim  of  Jove's  ire. 
With  baneful  art  his  dire  machine  he  shapes ; 
From  such  a  God  what  mortal  e'er  escapes  ? 
When  each  third  day  shall  triumph  o'er  the  night, 
Then  doth  the  vulture,  with  his  talons  light. 
Seize  on  my  entrails ;  which,  in  rav'nous  guise, 
He  preys  on  !  then  Avith  wing  extended  flies 
Aloft,  and  brushes  with  his  plumes  the  gore : 
But  when  dire  Jove  my  liver  doth  restore, 
Back  he  returns  impetuous  to  his  prey, 
Clapping  his  wings,  he  cuts  th'  ethereal  way. 
Thus  do  I  nourish  with  my  blood  this  pest, 
Confined  my  arms,  unable  to  contest ; 
Entreating  only  that  in  pity  Jove 
Would  take  my  life,  and  this  cursed  plague  remove. 
But  endless  ages  past  unheard  my  moan, 
Sooner  shall  drops  dissolve  this  very  stone. '^ 

And  therefore  it  scarcely  seems  possible  to  avoid  calling 
a  man  who  is  suffering,  miserable ;  and  if  he  is  miserable, 
then  pain  is  an  evil. 

'  Soph.  Trach.  1047. 

^  The  lines  quoted  by  Cicero  here  appear  to  have  come  from  the  Latin 
play  of  Prometheus  by  Accius  ;  the  ideas  are  borrowed,  rather  than  trans- 
lated, from  the  Prometheus  of  ^Eschylus. 

4 


14  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

XT.  A.  Hitherto  you  are  on  my  side ;  I  will  see  to  that 
by-and-by;  and,  in  the  mean  while,  whence  are  those 
verses?     I  do  not  remember  them. 

M.  I  will  inform  you,  for  you  are  in  tlie  right  to  ask. 
Do  you  see  that  I  have  much  leisure  ? 

A,  What,  then  ? 

M.  I  imagine,  when  you  were  at  Athens,  you  attended 
frequently  at  the  schools  of  the  philosophers. 

A.  Yes,  and  with  great  pleasure. 

M.  You  observed,  then,  that  though  none  of  them  at 
that  time  were  very  eloquent,  yet  they  used  to  mix  verses 
with  their  harangues. 

A.  Yes,  and  particularly  Dionysius  the  Stoic  used  to 
employ  a  great  many. 

31.  You  say  right;  but  they  were  quoted  without  any 
appropriateness  or  elegance.  But  our  friend  Philo  used 
to  give  a  few  select  lines  and  well  adapted;  and  in  imita- 
tion of  him,  ever  since  I  took  a  fancy  to  this  kind  of  el- 
derly declamation,  I  have  been  very  fond  of  quoting  our 
jDoets;  and  where  I  cannot  be  supplied  from  them,  I  trans- 
late from  the  Greek,  that  the  Latin  language  may  not  want 
any  kind  of  ornament  in  this  kind  of  disputation. 

But  do  you  not  see  how  much  harm  is  done  by  poets? 
They  introduce  the  bravest  men  lamenting  over  their  mis- 
fortunes: they  soften  our  minds;  and  they  are, besides,  so 
entertaining,  that  we  do  not  only  read  them,  but  get  them 
by  heart.  Thus  the  influence  of  the  poets  is  added  to  our 
want  of  discipline  at  home,  and  our  tender  and  delicate 
manner  of  living,  so  that  between  them  they  have  deprived 
virtue  of  all  its  vigor  and  energy.  Plato,  therefore,  was 
right  in  banishing  them  from  his  commonwealth,  where  he 
required  the  best  morals,  and  the  best  form  of  govern- 
ment. But  we,  who  have  all  our  learning  from  Greece, 
read  and  learn  these  works  of  theirs  from  oui-  childhood ; 
and  look  on  this  as  a  liberal  and  learned  education. 

XII.  But  why  are  we  angry  with  the  poets?  We  may 
find  some  philosophers,  those  masters  of  virtue,  who  have 
taught  that  pain  was  the  greatest  of  evils.  But  you,  young 
man,  when  you  said  but  just  now  that  it  appeared  so  to 
you,  upon  being  asked  by  mo  what  appeared  greater  than 
infamy,  gave  up  that  opinion  at  a  word.     Suppose  I  ask 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  75 

Epicurus  the  same  question.  He  Avill  answer  that  a  tri- 
fling degree  of  pain  is  a  greater  evil  than  the  greatest  in- 
famy ;  for  that  there  is  no  evil  in  infamy  itself,  unless 
attended  with  pain.  What  pain,  then,  attends  Epicurus, 
when  he  says  that  very  thing,  that  pain  is  the  greatest 
evil!  And  yet  nothing  can  be  a  greater  disgrace  to  a  phi- 
losopher than  to  talk  thus.  Therefore,  you  allowed  enough 
when  you  admitted  that  infamy  appeared  to  you  to  be  a 
greater  evil  than  j^ain.  And  if  you  abide  by  this  admis- 
sion, you  will  see  how  far  pain  should  be  resisted ;  and 
that  our  inquiry  should  be  not  so  much  whether  pain  be 
an  evil,  as  how  the  mind  may  be  fortified  for  resisting  it. 
The  Stoics  infer  from  some  petty  quibbling  arguments 
that  it  is  no  evil,  as  if  the  dispute  were  about  a  word,  and 
not  about  the  thing  itself.  Why  do  you  impose  upon  me, 
Zeno?  For  when  you  deny  what  appears  very  dreadful 
to  me  to  be  an  evil,  I  am  deceived,  and  am  at  a  loss  to 
know  why  that  which  appears  to  me  to  be  a  most  miser- 
able thing  should  be  no  evil.  The  answer  is,  that  nothing 
is  an  evil  but  what  is  base  and  vicious.  You  return  to 
your  trifling,  for  you  do  not  remove  what  made  me  un- 
easy. I  know  that  pain  is  not  vice — you  need  not  inform 
me  of  that :  but  show  me  that  it  makes  no  difference  to 
me  whether  I  am  in  pain  or  not.  It  has  never  anything 
to  do,  say  you,  with  a  happy  life,  for  that  depends  upon 
virtue  alone;  but  yet  pain  is  to  be  avoided.  If  I  ask, 
why?  It  is  disagreeable,  against  nature,  hard  to  bear, 
woful  and  afliicting. 

XIII.  Here  are  many  words  to  express  that  by  so  many 
different  forms  which  we  call  by  the  single  word  evil. 
You  are  defining  pain,  instead  of  removing  it,  when  you 
say,  it  is  disagreeable,  unnatural,  scarcely  possible  to  be 
endured  or  borne,  nor  are  you  wrong  in  saying  so :  but 
the  man  who  vaunts  himself  in  such  a  manner  should  not 
give  way  in  his  conduct,  if  it  be  true  that  nothing  is  good 
but  what  is  honest,  and  nothing  evil  but  what  is  disgrace- 
ful. This  would  be  wishing,  not  proving.  This  argu- 
ment is  a  better  one,  and  has  more  truth  in  it — that  all 
things  which  Nature  abhors  are  to  be  looked  upon  as 
evil ;  that  those  which  she  approves  of  are  to  be  consider- 
ed as  good :  for  when  this  is  admitted,  and  the  dispute 


16  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

about  words  removed,  that  which  they  with  reas'on  em- 
brace,  and  which  we  call  honest,  right,  becoming,  and 
sometimes  include  under  the  general  name  of  virtue,  ap- 
pears so  far  superior  to  everything  else  that  all  other 
things  which  are  looked  upon  as  the  gifts  of  fortune,  or 
the  good  things  of  the  body,  seem  trifling  and  insignifi- 
cant; and  no  evil  whatever,  nor  all  the  collective  body  of 
evils  together,  appears  to  be  compared  to  the  evil  of  in- 
famy. Wherefore,  if,  as  you  granted  in  the  beginning, 
infamy  is  worse  than  pain,  pjiin  is  certainly  nothing;  for 
while  it  appears  to  you  base  and  unmanly  to  groan,  cry 
out,  lament,  or  faint  under  pain  ;  while  you  cherish  notions 
of  probity,  dignity,  honor,  and,  keeping  your  eye  on  them, 
refrain  yourself,  pain  will  certainly  yield  to  virtue,  and,  by 
the  influence  of  imagination,  will  lose  its  whole  force. — 
For  you  must  either  admit  tiiat  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
virtue,  or  you  must  despise  every  kind  of  pain.  Will  you 
allow  of  such  a  virtue  as  jjrudence,  without  which  no  vir- 
tue whatever  can  even  be  conceived  ?  What,  then  ?  Will 
that  suffer  you  to  labor  and  take  pains  to  no  purpose? 
Will  temperance  permit  you  to  do  anything  to  excess  ? 
Will  it  be  possible  for  justice  to  be  maintained  by  one 
who  through  the  force  of  pain  discovers  secrets,  or  betrays 
his  confederates,  or  deserts  many  duties  of  life?  Will 
you  act  in  a  manner  consistently  with  courage,  and  its  at- 
tendants, greatness  of  soul,  resolution,  patience,  and  con- 
tempt for  all  worldly  things?  Can  you  hear  yourself  call- 
ed a  great  man  when  you  lie  grovelling,  dejected,  and  de- 
ploring your  condition  with  a  lamentable  voice;  no  one 
would  call  you  even  a  man  while  in  such  a  condition. 
You  must  therefore  cither  abandon  all  pretensions  to  cour- 
age, or  else  pain  must  be  put  out  of  the  question. 

XIV.  You  know  very  well  that,  even  though  part  of 
your  Corinthian  furniture  were  gone,  the  remainder  might 
be  safe  without  that;  but  if  you  lose  one  virtue  (though 
virtue  in  reality  cannot  be  lost),  still  if,  I  say,  you  shoukl 
acknowledge  that  you  were  deficient  in  one,  you  would  be 
stripped  of  all.  Can  you,  then,  call  yourself  a  brave  man, 
of  a  great  soul,  endued  with  patience  and  steadiness  above 
the  frowns  of  fortune?  or  Philoctetes?  for  I  choose  to  in- 
stance him,  rather  than  yourself,  for  he  certainly  was  not 


ON  BEARING  TAIN.  11 

a  brave  man,  who  lay  in  his  bed,  which  was  watered  with 
his  tears. 

Whose  gronns,  bewailings,  and  whose  bitter  cries, 
With  grief  incessant  rent  the  very  skies. 

I  do  not  deny  pain  to  be  pain — for  were  that  the  case,  in 
what  would  courage  consist? — but  I  say  it  should  be  tis- 
suaged  by  patience,  if  there  be  such  a  thing  as  patience : 
if  there  be  no  such  thing,  why  do  we  speak  so  in  praise  of 
philosophy?  or  why  do  we  glory  in  its  name?  Does  pain 
annoy  us  ?  Let  it  sting  us  to  the  heart :  if  you  are  with- 
out defensive  armor,  bare  your  throat  to  it;  but  if  you 
are  secured  by  Vulcanian  armor,  that  is  to  say  by  resolu- 
tion, resist  it.  Should  you  fail  to  do  so,  that  guardian  of 
your  honor,  your  courage,  will  forsake  and  leave  you. — By 
the  laws  of  Lycurgus,  and  by  those  which  were  given  to 
the  Cretans  by  Jupiter,  or  which  Minos  established  under 
the  direction  of  Jupiter,  as  the  poets  say,  the  youths  of 
the  State  are  trained  by  the  practice  of  hunting,  running, 
enduring  hunger  and  thirst,  cold  and  heat.  The  boys  at 
Sparta  are  scourged  so  at  the  altars  that  blood  follows  the 
lash  in  abundance;  nay,  sometimes,  as  I  used  to  hear  when 
I  was  there,  they  are  whipped  even  to  death;  and  yet  not 
one  of  them  was  ever  heard  to  cry  out,  or  so  much  as 
groan.  What,  then?  Shall  men  not  be  able  to  bear  what 
boys  do?  and  shall  custom  have  such  great  force,  and  rea- 
son none  at  all  ? 

XV.  There  is  some  difference  between  labor  and  pain ; 
they  border  upon  one  another,  but  still  there  is  a  certain 
difference  between  them.  Labor  is  a  certain  exercise  of 
the  mind  or  body,  in  some  employment  or  undertaking  of 
serious  trouble  and  importance;  but  pain  is  a  sharp  mo- 
tion in  the  body,  disagreeable  to  our  senses. — Both  these 
feelings,  the  Greeks,  whose  language  is  more  copious  than 
ours,  express  by  the  common  name  of  Uorog:  therefore 
they  call  industrious  men  painstaking,  or,  rather,  fond  of 
labor  ;  we,  more  conveniently,  call  them  laborious ;  for  la- 
boring is  one  thing,  and  enduring  pain  another.  You  see, 
O  Greece !  your  barrenness  of  words,  sometimes,  though 
you  think  you  are  always  so  rich  in  them.  I  say,  then, 
that  there  is  a  difference  between  laborinoj  and  beino-  in 


78  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

pain.  When  Cains  Marins  had  an  operation  performed 
for  a  swelling  in  his  thigh,  he  felt  pain ;  when  he  headed 
his  troops  in  a  very  hot  season,  he  labored.  Yet  these 
two  feelings  bear  some  resemblance  to  one  another ;  for 
the  accustoming  ourselves  to  labor  makes  the  endurance 
of  pain  more  easy  to  us.  And  it  was  because  they  were 
influenced  by  this  reason  that  the  founders  of  the  Grecian 
form  of  government  provided  that  the  bodies  of  their 
youth  should  be  strengthened  by  labor,  which  custom  the 
Spartans  transferred  even  to  their  women,  who  in  other 
cities  lived  more  delicately,  keeping  within  the  walls  of 
their  houses ;  but  it  was  otherwise  with  the  Spartans. 

The  Spartan  women,  with  a  manly  air, 
Fatigues  and  dangers  with  their  husbands  share ; 
They  in  fantastic  sports  liave  no  delight, 
Partners  with  them  in  exercise  and  fight. 

And  in  these  laborious  exercises  pain  interferes  sometimes. 
They  are  thrown  down,  receive  blows,  have  bad  falls,  and 
are  bruised,  and  the  labor  itself  produces  a  sort  of  callous- 
ness to  pain. 

XVI.  As  to  military  service  (I  speak  of  our  own,  not 
of  that  of  the  Spartans,  for  they  used  to  march  slowly  to 
the  sound  of  the  flute,  and  scarce  a  word  of  command  was 
given  without  an  anapaest),  you  may  see,  in  the  first  place, 
whence  the  very  name  of  an  army  {exercitusy  is  derived; 
and,  secondly,  how  great  the  labor  is  of  an  army  on  its 
march :  then  consider  that  they  carry  more  than  a  fort- 
night's provision,  and  whatever  else  they  may  want;  that 
they  carry  the  burden  of  the  stakes,'^  for  as  to  shield,  sword, 
or  helmet,  they  look  on  them  as  no  more  encumbrance  than 
their  own  limbs,  for  they  say  that  arms  are  the  limbs  of 
a  soldier,  and  those,  indeed,  they  carry  so  commodiously 
that,  when  there  is  occasion,  they  throw  down  their  bur- 
dens, and  use  their  arms  as  readily  as  their  limbs.  Why 
need  I  mention  the  exercises  of  the  legions?  And  how 
great  the  labor  is  which  is  undergone  in  the  running,  en- 
counters, sliouts  !    Hence  it  is  that  their  minds  are  worked 

*  From  exerceo. 

^  Each  soldier  carried  a  stake,  to  help  form  a  palisade  in  front  of  the 
camp. 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  ^9 

up  to  make  so  light  of  wounds  in  action.  Take  a  soldier 
of  equal  bravery,  but  undisciplined,  and  he  will  seem  a 
woman.  Why  is  it  that  there  is  this  sensible  difference 
between  a  raw  recruit  and  a  veteran  soldier?  The  age  of 
the  young  soldiers  is  for  the  most  part  in  their  favor;  but 
it  is  practice  only  that  enables  men  to  bear  labor  and  de- 
spise wounds.  Moreover,  we  often  see,  when  the  wounded 
are  carried  off  the  field,  the  raw,  untried  soldier,  though 
but  slightly  wounded,  cries  out  most  shamefully ;  but  the 
more  brave,  experienced  veteran  only  inquires  for  some  one 
to  dress  his  wounds,  and  says, 

Patroclus,  to  thy  aid  I  must  appeal 

Ere  worse  ensue,  my  bleeding  wounds  to  heal ; 

The  sons  of  ^sculapius  are  employ'd, 

No  room  for  me,  so  many  are  annoy'd. 

XVII.  This  is  certainly  Eurypylns  himself.  What  an 
experienced  man  ! — While  his  friend  is  continually  enlarg- 
ing on  his  misfortunes,  you  may  observe  that  he  is  so  far 
from  weeping  that  he  even  assigns  a  reason  why  he  should 
bear  his  wounds  with  patience. 

Who  at  his  enemy  a  stroke  directs, 
His  sword  to  light  upon  himself  expects. 

Patroclus,  I  suppose,  will  lead  him  off  to  his  chamber  to 
bind  up  his  wounds,  at  least  if  he  be  a  man :  but  not  a 
word  of  that;  he  only  inquires  how  the  battle  went: 

Say  how  the  Argives  bear  themselves  in  fight? 

And  yet  no  words  can  show  the  truth  as  well  as  those,  your 
deeds  and  visible  sufferings. 

Peace !  and  my  wounds  bind  up  ; 

but  though  Eurypylus  could  bear  these  afflictions,  ^sopus 
could  not, 

Where  Hector's  fortune  press'd  our  yielding  troops ; 

and  he  explains  the  rest,  though  in  pain.  So  unbounded 
is  military  glory  in  a  brave  man!  Shall,  then,  a  veteran 
soldier  be  able  to  behave  in  this  manner,  and  shall  a  wise 
and  learned  man  not  be  able?     Surely  the  latter  might  be 


80  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

able  to  bear  pain  better,  and  in  no  small  degree  either.  At 
present,  however,  I  am  confining  myself  to  what  is  engen- 
dered by  practice  and  discipline.  I  am  not  yet  come  to 
speak  of  reason  and  philosophy.  You  may  often  hear  of  old 
women  living  without  victuals  for  three  or  four  days ;  but 
take  away  a  wrestler's  provisions  but  for  one  day,  and  he 
will  implore  the  aid  of  Jupiter  Olympius,  the  very  God  for 
whom  he  exercises  himself :  he  will  cry  out  that  he  cannot 
endure  it.  Great  is  the  force  of  custom  !  Sportsmen  will 
continue  whole  nights  in  the  snow ;  they  will  bear  being- 
aim  ost  frozen  upon  the  mountains.  From  practice  boxers 
will  not  so  much  as  utter  a  groan,  however  bruised  by  the 
cestus.  But  what  do  you  think  of  those  to  whom  a  vic- 
tory in  the  Olympic  games  seemed  almost  on  a  par  with 
the  ancient  consulships  of  the  Roman  people?  What 
wounds  will  the  gladiators  bear,  who  are  either  barbarians, 
or  the  very  dregs  of  mankind  !  How  do  they,  who  are 
trained  to  it,  prefer  being  wounded  to  basely  avoiding  it ! 
How  often  do  they  prove  that  they  consider  nothing  but 
the  giving  satisfaction  to  their  masters  or  to  the  people ! 
for  when  covered  with  wounds,  they  send  to  their  masters 
to  learn  their  pleasure:  if  it  is  their  will,  they  are  ready  to 
lie  down  and  die.  What  gladiator,  of  even  moderate  rep- 
utation, ever  gave  a  sigh?  who  ever  turned  pale?  wlio 
ever  disgraced  himself  either  in  the  actual  combat,  or  even 
when  about  to  die?  who  that  had  been  defeated  ever  drew 
in  his  neck  to  avoid  the  stroke  of  death  ?  So  great  is  the 
force  of  practice,  deliberation,  and  custom !  Shall  this, 
then,  be  done  by 

A  Samnite  rascal,  wovtliy  of  his  trade ; 

and  shall  a  man  born  to  glory  have  so  soft  a  part  in  his 
soul  as  not  to  be  able  to  fortify  it  by  reason  and  reflection? 
The  sight  of  the  gladiators'  combats  is  by  some  looked  on 
as  cruel  and  inluiman,  and  I  do  not  know,  as  it  is  at  present 
managed,  but  it  may  be  so;  but  when  the  guilty  fought, 
we  might  receive  by  our  ears  perhaps  (but  certainly  by 
our  eyes  we  could  not)  better  training  to  harden  us  against 
pain  and  death. 

XVIII.  I  have  now  said  enough  about  the  effects  of  ex- 
ercise, custom,  and  careful  meditation.     Proceed  we  now 


ON  BEAKING  PAIN.  81 

to  consider  the  force  of  reason,  unless  you  have  something 
to  reply  to  what  has  been  said. 

A.  That  I  should  interrupt  you !  By  no  means ;  for 
your  discourse  has  brought  me  over  to  your  opinion.  Let 
the  Stoics,  then,  think  it  their  business  to  determine  wheth- 
er pain  be  an  evil  or  not,  while  they  endeavor  to  show  by 
some  strained  and  trilling  conclusions,  which  are  nothing 
to  the  purpose,  that  pain  is  no  evil.  My  opinion  is,  that 
whatever  it  is,  it  is  not  so  great  as  it  appears;  and  I  say, 
that  men  are  influenced  to  a  great  extent  by  some  false 
representations  and  appearance  of  it,  and  that  all  which  is 
really  felt  is  capable  of  being  endured.  Where  shall  I  be- 
gin, then  ?  Shall  I  superficially  go  over  what  I  said  be- 
fore, that  my  discourse  may  have  a  greater  scope? 

This,  then,  is  agreed  upon  by  all,  and  not  only  by  learned 
men,  but  also  by  the  unlearned,  that  it  becomes  the  brave 
and  magnanimous — those  that  have  patience  and  a  spirit 
above  this  world — not  to  give  way  to  pain.  Nor  has  there 
ever  been  any  one  who  did  not  commend  a  man  who  bore 
it  in  this  manner.  That,  then,  which  is  expected  from  a 
brave  man,  and  is  commended  when  it  is  seen,  it  must  sure- 
ly be  base  in  any  one  to  be  afraid  of  at  its  approach,  or 
not  to  bear  when  it  comes.  But  I  would  have  you  con- 
sider whether,  as  all  the  right  affections  of  the  soul  are 
classed  under  the  name  of  virtues,  the  truth  is  that  this  is 
not  properly  the  name  of  them  all,  but  that  they  all  have 
their  name  from  that  leading  virtue  which  is  superior  to 
all  the  rest :  for  the  name  "  virtue"  comes  from  vir,  a  man, 
and  courage  is  the  peculiar  distinction  of  a  man  :  and  this 
virtue  has  two  principal  duties,  to  despise  death  and  pain. 
We  must,  then,  exert  tliese,  if  we  would  bo  men  of  virtue, 
or,  rather,  if  we  would  be  men,  because  virtue  {virtus)  takes 
its  very  name  from  vir,  man. 

XIX.  You  may  inquire,  perhaps,  how  ?  And  such  an 
inquiry  is  not  amiss,  for  philosophy  is  ready  with  her  as- 
sistance. Epicurus  offers  himself  to  you,  a  man  far  from 
a  bad — or,  I  should  rather  say,  a  very  good  man  :  he  ad- 
vises no  more  than  he  knows.  "  Despise  pain,"  says  he. 
Who  is  it  saith  this?  Is  it  the  same  man  who  calls  pain 
the  greatest  of  all  evils?  It  is  not,  indeed,  very  consist- 
ent in  him.     Let  us  hear  w^hat  he  savs  :  "  If  the  pain  is  ex- 

4^^ 


82  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

cessive,  it  must  needs  be  short."  I  must  have  that  over 
again,  for  I  do  not  apprehend  what  you  mean  exactly  by 
"  excessive "  or  "  short."  That  is  excessive  than  which 
nothing  can  be  greater;  that  is  short  than  which  noth- 
ing is  shorter,  I  do  not  regard  the  greatness  of  any  pain 
from  which,  by  reason  of  the  shortness  of  its  continuance, 
I  shall  be  delivered  almost  before  it  reaches  me.  But  if 
the  pain  be  as  great  as  that  of  Philoctetes,  it  will  appear 
great  indeed  to  me,  but  yet  not  the  greatest  that  I  am 
capable  of  bearing ;  for  the  pain  is  confined  to  my  foot. 
But  my  eye  may  pain  me,  I  may  have  a  pain  in  the  head, 
or  sides,  or  lungs,  or  in  every  part  of  me.  It  is  far,  then, 
from  being  excessive.  Therefore,  says  he,  pain  of  a  long 
continuance  has  more  pleasure  in  it  than  uneasiness. 
Now,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  say  so  great  a  man  talks 
nonsense;  but  I  imagine  he  is  laughing  at  us.  My  opin- 
ion is  that  the  greatest  pain  (I  say  the  greatest,  though  it 
may  be  ten  atoms  less  than  another)  is  not  therefore  short, 
because  acute.  I  could  name  to  you  a  great  many  good 
men  who  have  been  tormented  many  years  with  the  acutest 
pains  of  the  gout.  But  this  cautious  man  doth  not  deter- 
mine the  measure  of  that  greatness  or  of  duration,  so  as  to 
enable  us  to  know  what  he  calls  excessive  with  regard  to 
pain,  or  short  with  respect  to  its  continuance.  Let  us  pass 
him  by,  tlien,  as  one  who  says  just  nothing  at  all;  and  let 
us  force  him  to  acknowledge,  notwithstanding  he  might 
behave  himself  somewhat  boldly  under  his  colic  and  his 
strangury,  that  no  remedy  against  pain  can  be  had  from 
him  who  looks  on  pain  as  the  greatest  of  all  evils.  We 
must  apply,  then,  for  relief  elsewhere,  and  nowhere  better 
(if  we  seek  for  what  is  most  consistent  with  itself)  than 
to  those  who  place  the  chief  good  in  honesty,  and  the 
greatest  evil  in  infamy.  You  dare  not  so  much  as  groan, 
or  discover  the  least  uneasiness  in  their  company,  for  vir- 
tue itself  speaks  to  you  through  them. 

XX.  Will  you,  when  you  may  observe  children  at  Lace- 
daimon,  and  young  men  at  Olympia,  and  barbarians  in  the 
amphitheatre,  receive  the  severest  wounds,  and  bear  them 
without  once  opening  their  mouths — will  you,  I  say,  if  any 
pain  should  by  chance  attack  you,  cry  out  like  a  woman  ? 
Will  you  not  rather  bear  it  with  resolution  and  constan. 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  83 

cy  ?  and  not  cry,  It  is  intolerable ;  nature  cannot  bear  it ! 
I  hear  what  you  say :  Boys  bear  this  because  they  are 
led  thereto  by  glory ;  some  bear  it  through  shame,  many 
through  fear,  and  yet  are  we  afraid  that  nature  cannot 
bear  what  is  borne  by  many,  and  in  such  different  cir- 
cumstances? Nature  not  only  bears  it,  but  challenges  it, 
for  there  is  nothing  with  her  preferable,  nothing  which 
she  desires  more  than  credit,  and  reputation,  and  praise, 
and  honor,  and  glory.  I  choose  here  to  describe  this  one 
thing  under  many  names,  and  I  have  used  many  that  you 
may  have  the  clearer  idea  of  it ;  for  what  I  mean  to  say  is, 
that  whatever  is  desirable  of  itself,  proceeding  from  vir- 
tue, or  placed  in  virtue,  and  commendable  on  its  own  ac- 
count (which  I  would  rather  agree  to  call  the  only  good 
than  deny  it  to  be  the  chief  good)  is  what  men  should  pre- 
fer above  all  things.  And  as  we  declare  this  to  be  the 
case  with  respect  to  honesty,  so  w^e  speak  in  tlie  contra- 
ry manner  of  infamy ;  nothing  is  so  odious,  so  detesta- 
ble, nothing  so  unworthy  of  a  man.  And  if  you  are  thor- 
oughly convinced  of  this  (for,  at  the  beginning  of  this  dis- 
course, you  allowed  that  there  appeared  to  you  more  evil 
in  infamy  than  in  pain),  it  follows  that  you  ought  to  have 
the  command  over  yourself,  though  I  scarcely  know  how 
this  expression  may  seem  an  accurate  one,  which  appears 
to  represent  man  as  made  up  of  two  natures,  so  that  one 
should  be  in  command  and  the  other  be  subject  to  it. 

XXI.  Yet  this  division  does  not  proceed  from  igno- 
rance; for  the  soul  admits  of  a  twofold  division,  one  of 
which  partakes  of  reason,  the  other  is  wdtliout  it.  When, 
therefore,  we  are  ordered  to  give  a  law  to  ourselves,  the 
meaning  is,  that  reason  should  restrain  our  rashness. 
There  is  in  the  soul  of  every  man  something  naturally  soft, 
low,  enervated  in  a  manner,  and  languid.  Were  there 
nothing  besides  this,  men  would  be  the  greatest  of  mon- 
sters ;  but  there  is  present  to  every  man  reason,  which  pre- 
sides over  and  gives  laws  to  all ;  which,  by  improving  it- 
self, and  making  continual  advances,  becomes  perfect  vir- 
tue. It  behooves  a  man,  then,  to  take  care  that  reason 
shall  have  the  command  over  that  part  wdiich  is  bound 
to  practise  obedience.  In  what  manner?  you  will  say. 
Why,  as  a  master  has  over  his  slave,  a  general  over  his 


84  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

army,  a  father  over  his  son.  If  that  part  of  the  soul 
which  I  have  called  soft  behaves  disgracefully,  if  it  gives 
itself  up  to  lamentations  and  womanish  tears,  then  let  it 
be  restrained,  and  committed  to  tlie  care  of  friends  and 
relations,  for  we  often  see  those  persons  brought  to  or- 
der by  shame  whom  no  reasons  can  influence.  Therefore, 
we  should  confiire  those  feelings,  like  our  servants,  in  safe 
custody,  and  almost  with  chains.  But  those  who  have 
more  resolution,  and  yet  are  not  utterly  immovable,  we 
should  encourage  with  our  exhortations,  as  we  would  good 
soldiers,  to  recollect  themselves,  and  maintain  their  honor. 
That  wisest  man  of  all  Greece,  in  the  Niptrae,  does  not  la- 
ment too  much  over  his  wounds,  or,  rather,  he  is  moderate 
in  his  grief : 

Move  slow,  my  fiiends ;  your  hasty  speed  refrain, 
Lest  by  your  motion  you  increase  my  pain. 

Pacuvius  is  better  in  this  than  Sophocles,  for  in  the 
one  Ulysses  bemoans  his  wounds  too  vehemently;  for  the 
veiy  people  who  carried  him  after  he  was  wounded, 
though  his  grief  was  moderate,  yet,  considering  the  dignity 
of  the  man,  did  not  scruple  to  say, 

And  thou,  Ulysses,  long  to  war  inured, 

Thy  wounds,  though  great,  too  feebly  hast  endured. 

The  wise  poet  understood  that  custom  was  no  contempti- 
ble instructor  how  to  bear  pain.  But  the  same  hero  com- 
plains with  more  decency,  though  in  great  j^ain  : 

Assist,  support  me,  never  leave  me  so  ; 
Unbind  my  wounds,  oh  !  execrable  woe ! 

He  begins  to  give  way,  but  instantly  checks  himself: 

Away  !  begone !  but  cover  first  tlie  sore  ; 

For  your  rude  hands  but  make  my  pains  the  more. 

Do  you  observe  how  he  constrains  himself?  not  that  his 
bodily  pains  were  less,  but  because  lie  checks  the  anguish 
of  his  mind.  Therefore,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  Niptrae, 
he  blames  others,  even  when  he  himself  is  dying : 

Complaints  of  fortune  may  become  the  man, 
None  but  a  woman  will  thus  weeping  stand. 


ON  BEARING  TAIN.  86 

And  so  that  soft  place  in  liis  soul  obeys  his  reason,  just  as 
an  abashed  soldier  does  his  stern  commander. 

XXII.  The  man,  then,  in  whom  absolute  wisdom  exists 
(such  a  man,  indeed,  we  have  never  as  yet  seen,  but  the 
philosophers  have  described  in  their  writings  what  sort  of 
man  he  will  be,  if  he  should  exist) ;  such  a  man,  or  at  least 
that  perfect  and  absolute  reason  which  exists  in  him,  will 
have  the  same  authority  over  the  inferior  part  as  a  good 
parent  has  over  his  dutiful  children :  he  will  bring  it  to 
obey  his  nod  without  any  trouble  or  difficulty.  He  will 
rouse  himself,  prepare  and  arm  himself,  to  oppose  pain 
as  he  would  an  enemy.  If  you  inquire  what  arms  he  will 
provide  himself  with,  they  will  be  contention,  encourage- 
ment, discourse  with  himself.  He  will  say  thus  to  himself: 
Take  care  that  you  are  guilty  of  nothing  base,  languid,  or 
unmanly.  He  will  turn  over  in  his  mind  all  the  different 
kinds  of  honor.  Zeno  of  Elea  will  occur  to  him,  who  suf- 
fered everything  rather  than  betray  his  confederates  in  the 
design  of  putting  an  end  to  the  tyranny.  He  will  reflect 
on  Anaxarchus,  the  pupil  of  Democritus,  who,  having  fall- 
en into  the  hands  of  Nicocreon,  King  of  Cyprus,  without 
the  least  entreaty  for  mercy  or  refusal,  submitted  to  every 
kind  of  torture.  Calanus  the  Indian  will  occur  to  him,  an 
ignorant  man  and  a  barbarian,  born  at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Caucasus,  who  committed  himself  to  the  flames  by  his  own 
free,  voluntary  act.  But  we,  if  we  have  the  toothache, 
or  a  pain  in  the  foot,  or  if  the  body  be  anyways  affected, 
cannot  bear  it.  For  our  sentiments  of  pain  as  well  as 
pleasure  are  so  trifling  and  effeminate,  we  are  so  enervated 
and  relaxed  by  luxuries,  that  we  cannot  bear  the  sting  of 
a  bee  without  crying  out.  But  Caius  Marius,  a  plain 
countryman,  but  of  a  manly  soul,  when  he  had  an  operation 
performed  on  him,  as  I  mentioned  above,  at  first  refused 
to  be  tied  down ;  and  he  is  the  first  instance  of  any  one's 
having  had  an  operation  performed  on  him  without  be- 
ing tied  down.  Why,  then,  did  others  bear  it  afterward  ? 
Why,  from  the  force  of  example.  You  see,  then,  that  pain 
exists  more  in  opinion  than  in  nature;  and  yet  the  same 
Marius  gave  a  proof  that  there  is  something  very  sharp  in 
pain,  for  he  would  not  submit  to  have  the  other  thigh  cut. 
So  that  he  bore  his  pain  with  resolution  as  a  man ;  but, 


86  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

like  a  reasonable  person,  he  was  not  willing  to  undergo 
any  greater  j^ain  without  some  necessary  reason.  The 
whole,  then,  consists  in  this — that  you  should  have  com- 
mand over  yourself.  I  have  already  told  you  wliat  kind 
of  command  this  is ;  and  by  considering  what  is  most  con- 
sistent with  patience,  fortitude,  and  greatness  of  soul,  a 
man  not  only  restrains  himself,  but,  somehow  or  otlier,  mit- 
igates even  pain  itself. 

XXIII.  Even  as  in  a  battle  the  dastardly  and  timorous 
soldier  throws  away  his  shield  on  the  first  appearance  of 
an  enemy,  and  runs  as  fast  as  he  can,  and  on  that  account 
loses  his  life  sometimcG,  though  he  has  never  received  even 
one  wound,  wlicn  he  who  stands  his  ground  has  noth- 
ing of  the  sort  happen  to  him,  so  they  who  cannot  bear 
the  appearance  of  pain  throw  themselves  away,  and  give 
themselves  up  to  affliction  and  dismay.  But  they  that 
oppose  it,  often  come  off  more  than  a  match  for  it.  For 
the  body  has  a  certain  resemblance  to  the  soul:  as  bur- 
dens ai'e  more  easily  borne  the  more  the  body  is  exerted, 
while  they  crush  us  if  we  give  way,  so  the  soul  by  exert- 
ing itself  resists  tlie  whole  weight  that  would  oppress  it; 
but  if  it  yields,  it  is  so  pressed  that  it  cannot  support  it- 
self. And  if  Ave  consider  tilings  truly,  the  soul  should  ex- 
ert itself  in  every  pursuit,  for  that  is  the  only  security  for 
its  doing  its  duty.  But  this  should  be  principally  regard- 
ed in  pain,  that  we  must  not  do  anything  timidly,  or  das- 
tardly, or  basely,  or  slavishly,  or  effeminately,  and,  above 
all  things,  we  must  dismiss  and  avoid  that  Philoctetean 
sort  of  outcry.  A  man  is  allowed  sometimes  to  groan,  but 
yet  seldom ;  but  it  is  not  permissible  even  in  a  woman  to 
howl ;  for  such  a  noise  as  this  is  forbidden,  by  the  twelve 
tables,  to  be  used  even  at  funerals.  Nor  does  a  wise  or 
brave  man  ever  groan,  unless  when  he  exerts  himself  to 
give  his  resolution  greater  force,  as  they  who  run  in  the 
stadium  make  as  much  noise  as  they  can.  The  wrestlers, 
too,  do  the  same  when  they  are  training;  and  the  boxers, 
when  they  aim  a  blow  with  the  cestus  at  their  adversary, 
give  a  groan,  not  because  they  are  in  pain,  or  from  a  sink- 
ing of  their  spirits,  but  because  their  whole  body  is  put 
upon  the  stretch  by  the  throwing-out  of  these  groans,  and 
the  blow  comes  the  stroncjer 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  87 

XXIV.  What !  they  who  would  speak  louder  than  ordi- 
nary, are  they  satisfied  with  working  their  jaws,  sides,  or 
tongue,  or  stretching  the  common  organs  of  speech  and 
utterance?  The  whole  body  and  every  muscle  is  at  full 
stretch,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression ;  every  nerve  is 
exerted  to  assist  their  voice.  I  have  actually  seen  the  knees 
of  Marcus  Antonius  touch  the  ground  when  he  was  speak- 
ing with  vehemence  for  himself,  with  relation  to  the  Ya- 
rian  law.  For,  as  the  engines  you  throw  stones  or  darts 
with  throw  them  out  with  the  greater  force  the  more  they 
are  strained  and  drawn  back;  so  it  is  in  speaking,  run- 
ning, or  boxing  —  the  more  people  strain  themselves,  the 
greater  their  force.  Since,  therefore,  this  exertion  has  so 
much  influence  —  if  in  a  moment  of  pain  groans  help  to 
strengthen  the  mind,  let  us  use  them;  but  if  they  be 
groans  of  lamentation,  if  they  be  the  expression  of  weak- 
ness or  abjectness,  or  unmanly  weeping,  then  I  should 
scarcely  call  him  a  man  who  yielded  to  them.  For  even 
supposing  that  such  groaning  could  give  any  ease,  it  still 
should  be  considered  whether  it  v/ere  consistent  with  a 
brave  and  resolute  man.  But  if  it  does  not  ease  our  pain, 
why  should  we  debase  ourselves  to  no  purpose?  For 
what  is  more  unbecoming  in  a  man  than  to  cry  like  a 
woman?  But  this  precept  which  is  laid  down  with  re- 
spect to  pain  is  not  confined  to  it.  We  should  apply  this 
exertion  of  the  soul  to  everything  else.  Is  anger  in- 
flamed? is  lust  excited?  we  must  have  recourse  to  the 
same  citadel,  and  apply  to  the  same  arms.  But  since  it  is 
pain  which  we  are  at  present  discussing,  we  will  let  the 
other  subjects  alone.  To  bear  pain,  then,  sedately  and 
calmly,  it  is  of  great  use  to  consider  Avith  all  our  soul,  as 
the  saying  is,  how  noble  it  is  to  do  so,  for  we  are  naturally 
desirous  (as  I  said  before,  but  it  cannot  be  too  often  re- 
peated) and  very  much  inclined  to  what  is  honorable,  of 
which,  if  we  discover  but  the  least  glimpse,  there  is  noth- 
ing which  we  are  not  prepared  to  undergo  and  suffer  to 
attain  it.  From  this  impulse  of  our  minds,  this  desire  for 
genuine  glory  and  honorable  conduct,  it  is  that  such  dan- 
gers are  supported  in  war,  and  that  brave  men  are  not 
sensible  of  their  wounds  in  action,  or,  if  they  are  sensible 
of  them,  prefer  death  to  the  departing  but  the  leflst  step 


88  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

from  their  honor.  The  Decii  saw  the  shining  swords  of 
their  enemies  when  they  were  rusliing  into  tlie  battle. 
But  the  honorable  character  and  the  glory  of  tlie  death 
whicli  they  were  seeking  made  all  fear  of  death  of  lit- 
tle weight.  Do  you  imagine  that  Epaminondas  groaned 
when  he  perceived  that  his  life  was  flowing  out  with  his 
blood?  No;  for  he  left  his  country  triumphing  over  the 
Lacedgemonians,  whereas  he  had  found  it  in  subjection  to 
them.  These  are  the  comforts,  these  are  the  things  that 
assuage  the  greatest  pain. 

XXV.  You  may  ask,  How  the  case  is  in  peace?  What 
is  to  be  done  at  home  ?  How  we  are  to  beliave  in  bed  ? 
You  bring  me  back  to  the  jDhilosopherSj  who  seldom  go 
to  war.  Among  these,  Dionysius  of  Heraclea,  a  man  cer- 
tainly of  no  resolution,  having  learned  fortitude  of  Zeno, 
quitted  it  on  being  in  pain ;  for,  being  tormented  with  a 
pain  in  his  kidneys,  in  bewailing  himself  he  cried  out  that 
those  things  were  false  which  ho  had  formerly  conceived 
of  pain.  And  when  his  fellow-disciple,  Cleanthes,  asked 
him  why  he  had  changed  his  opinion,  he  answered, "  That 
the  case  of  any  man  who  had  applied  so  much  time  to 
philosophy,  and  yet  was  unable  to  bear  pain,  might  be  a 
sufHcient  proof  that  pain  is  an  evil ;  that  he  himself  had 
spent  many  years  at  philosophy,  and  yet  could  not  bear 
pain :  it  followed,  therefore,  that  pain  was  an  evil."  It  is 
reported  that  Cleanthes  on  that  struck  his  foot  on  the 
groimd,  and  repeated  a  verse  out  of  the  Epigonae: 

Amphiaraus,  hear'st  thou  this  below? 

He  meant  Zeno:  he  was  sorry  the  other  had  degenerated 
from  him. 

But  it  was  not  so  with  our  friend  Posidonius,  whom  1 
have  often  seen  myself ;  and  I  will  tell  you  what  Pompey 
used  to  say  of  him :  that  when  he  came  to  Rhodes,  after 
his  departure  from  Syria,  he  had  a  great  desire  to  hear 
Posidonius,  but  was  informed  that  he  was  very  ill  of  a  se- 
vere fit  of  the  gout;  yet  he  had  great  inclitiation  to  pay  a 
visit  to  so  famous  a  ])hilosopher.  Accordingly,  when  he 
had  seen  him,  and  paid  his  com])liments,  and  had  spoken 
with  great  respect  of  him,  he  said  he  was  very  sorry  that 
he  could  not  hear  him  lecture.     "But  indeed  you  may," 


ON  BEARING  PAIN.  89 

replied  the  other, "  nor  will  I  suffer  any  bodily  pain  to  oc- 
casion so  great  a  man  to  visit  me  in  vain."  On  this  Pom- 
l^ey  relates  that,  as  he  lay  on  his  bed,  he  disputed  with 
great  dignity  and  fluency  on  this  very  subject :  that  noth- 
ing was  good  but  what  was  honest;  and  that  in  his  par- 
oxysms he  would  often  say,  "  Pain,  it  is  to  no  purpose ; 
notwithstanding  you  are  troublesome,  I  will  never  ac- 
knowledge you  an  evil."  And  in  general  all  celebrated 
and  notorious  afflictions  become  endurable  by  disregard- 
ing them. 

XXVI.  Do  we  not  observe  that  where  those  exercises 
called  gymnastic  are  in  esteem,  those  who  enter  the  lists 
never  concern  themselves  about  dangers?  that  where  the 
praise  of  riding  and  hunting  is  highly  esteemed,  they  who 
practice  these  arts  decline  no  pain  ?  What  shall  I  say  of 
our  own  ambitious  pursuits  or  desire  of  honors  ?  What 
fire  have  not  candidates  run  through  to  gain  a  single 
vote?  Therefore  Africanus  had  always  in  his  hands 
Xenophon,  the  pupil  of  Socrates,  being  particularly  pleased 
w^ith  his  saying,  that  the  same  labors  were  not  equally 
heavy  to  the  general  and  to  the  common  man,  because  the 
honor  itself  made  the  labor  lighter  to  the  general.  But 
yet,  so  it  happens,  that  even  with  the  illiterate  vulgar  an 
idea  of  honor  is  of  great  influence,  though  they  cannot  un- 
derstand what  it  is.  They  are  led  by  report  and  common 
opinion  to  look  on  that  as  honorable  whicli  has  the  general 
voice.  Not  that  I  would  have  you,  should  the  multitude 
be  ever  so  fond  of  you,  rely  on  their  judgment,  nor  ap- 
prove of  everything  which  they  think  right:  you  must 
use  your  own  judgment.  If  you  are  satisfied  with  your- 
self when  you  have  approved  of  what  is  right,  you  will 
not  only  have  the  mastery  over  yourself  (which  I  recom- 
mended to  you  just  now),  but  over  everybody,  and  every- 
thing. Lay  this  down,  then,  as  a  rule,  that  a  great  ca- 
pacity, and  lofty  elevation  of  soul,  which  distinguishes  it- 
self most  by  despising  and  looking  down  with  contempt 
on  pain,  is  the  most  excellent  of  all  things,  and  the  more 
so  if  it  does  not  depend  on  the  people  and  does  not  aim  at 
applause,  but  derives  its  satisfaction  from  itself.  Besides, 
to  me,  indeed,  everything  seems  the  more  commendable 
the  less  the  peo])le  are  courted,  and  the  fewer  eyes  there 


90  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

are  to  see  it.  ISTot  that  you  should  avoid  the  public,  for 
every  generous  action  loves  the  public  view ;  yet  no  the- 
atre for  virtue  is  equal  to  a  consciousness  of  it. 

XXVII.  And  let  this  be  principally  considered  :  that 
this  bearing  of  pain,  which  I  have  often  said  is  to  be 
strengthened  by  an  exertion  of  the  soul,  should  be  the 
s^me  in  everything.  For  you  meet  with  many  who, 
through  a  desire  of  victory,  or  for  glory,  or  to  maintain 
their  rights,  or  their  liberty,  liave  boldly  received  wounds, 
and  borne  themselves  up  under  them ;  and  yet  those  very 
same  persons,  by  relaxing  that  intenseness  of  their  minds, 
were  unequal  to  bearing  the  pain  of  a  disease;  for  they 
did  not  support  themselves  under  their  former  sufferings 
by  reason  or  philosophy,  but  by  inclination  and  glory. 
Therefore  some  barbarians  and  savage  people  are  able  to 
fight  very  stoutly  with  the  sword,  but  cannot  bear  sick- 
ness like  men  ;  but  the  Grecians,  men  of  no  great  courage, 
but  as  wise  as  human  nature  will  admit  of,  cannot  look  an 
enemy  in  the  face,  yet  the  same  will  bear  to  be  visited 
with  sickness  tolerably,  and  with  a  sufficiently  manly  spir- 
it; and  the  Cimbrians  and  Celtiberians  are  very  alert  in 
battle,  but  bemoan  themselves  in  sickness.  For  nothing 
can  be  consistent  which  has  not  reason  for  its  foundation. 
But  when  you  see  those  who  are  led  by  inclination  or 
opinion,  not  retarded  by  pain  in  their  pursuits,  nor  hin- 
dered by  it  from  succeeding  in  them,  you  may  conclude, 
either  that  pain  is  no  evil,  or  that,  notwithstanding  you 
may  choose  to  call  an  evil  whatever  is  disagreeable  and 
contrary  to  nature,  yet  it  is  so  very  trifling  an  evil  that  it 
may  so  effectually  be  got  the  better  of  by  virtue  as  quite 
to  disappear.  And  I  would  have  you  tliink  of  this  night 
and  day ;  for  this  argument  will  spread  itself,  and  take  up 
more  room  some  time  or  other,  and  not  be  confined  to 
pain  alone;  for  if  the  motives  to  all  our  actions  are  to 
avoid  disgrace  and  acquire  honor,  we  may  not  only  despise 
the  stings  of  pain,  but  the  storms  of  fortune,  especially  if 
we  have  recourse  to  that  retreat  which  Avas  pointed  out  in 
our  yesterday's  discussion ;  for,  as  if  some  God  had  ad- 
vised a  man  who  was  pursued  by  pirates  to  throw  himself 
overboard,  saying,  "There  is  something  at  hand  to  receive 
you;  either  a  dolphin  will  take  you  up,  as  it  did  Arion  of 


ON  GtllEF  OF  MIND.  91 

Methymna;  or  those  horses  sent  by  Neptune  to  Pelops 
(who  are  said  to  have  carried  chariots  so  rapidly  as  to  be 
borne  up  by  the  waves)  will  receive  you,  and  convey  you 
wherever  you  please.  Cast  away  all  fear."  So,  though 
your  pains  be  ever  so  sharp  and  disagreeable,  if  tbe  case 
is  not_  such  that  it  is  worth  your  while  to  endure  them, 
you  see  whither  you  may  betake  yourself.  I  think  this 
will  do  for  the  present.  But  perhaps  you  still  abide  by 
your  opinion. 

A.  Not  in  the  least,  indeed ;  and  I  hope  I  am  freed  by 
these  two  days'  discourses  from  the  fear  of  two  things 
that  I  greatly  dreaded. 

M.  To-morrow,  then,  for  rhetoric,  as  we  were  saying. 
But  I  see  we  must  not  drop  our  philosophy. 

A.  No,  indeed ;  we  will  have  the  one  in  the  forenoon, 
and  this  at  the  usual  time. 

31.  It  shall  be  so,  and  I  will  comply  with  your  very 
laudable  inclinations. 


BOOK  III. 

ON    GRIEF    OF    MIXD. 


I.  What  reason  shall  I  assign,  O  Brutus,  wdiy,  as  we 
consist  ol;  mind  and  body,  the  art  of  curing  and  preserv- 
ing the  body  should  be  so  much  sought  after,  and  the  in- 
vention of  it,  as  being  so  useful,  should  be  ascribed  to  the 
immortal  Gods;  but  the  medicine  of  the  mind  should  not 
have  been  so  much  the  object  of  inquiry  while  it  was  un- 
known, nor  so  much  attended  to  and  cultivated  after  its 
discovery,  nor  so  well  received  or  approved  of  by  some, 
and  accounted  actually  disagreeable,  and  looked  upon  with 
an  envious  eye  by  many  ?  Is  it  because  we,  by  means  of 
the  mind,  judge  of  the  pains  and  disorders  of  the  body, 
but  do  not,  by  means  of  the  body,  arrive  at  any  perception 
of  the  disorders  of  the  mind  ?  Hence  it  comes  that  the 
mind  only  judges  of  itself  when  that  very  faculty  by  which 
it  is  judged  is  in  a  bad  state.  Had  nature  given  us  facul- 
ties for  discerning  and  viewing  herself,  and  could  we  go 
through  life  by  keeping  our  eye  on  her — our  best  guide — 


92  thp:  tusculan  disputations. 

there  would  be  no  reason  certainly  why  any  one  should  be 
in  want  of  philosophy  or  learning;  but,  as  it  is,  she  has 
furnished  us  only  with  some  feeble  rays  of  light,  which 
we  immediately  extinguish  so  completely  by  evil  habits 
and  erroneous  opinions  that  the  light  of  nature  is  nowhere 
visible.  The  seeds  of  virtues  are  natural  to  our  constitu- 
tions, and,  were  they  suffered  to  come  to  maturity,  would 
naturally  conduct  us  to  a  happy  life;  but  now,  as  soon  as 
we  are  born  and  received  into  the  world,  we  are  instantly 
familiarized  with  all  kinds  of  depravity  and  perversity  of 
opinions;  so  that  we  may  be  said  almost  to  suck  in  error 
with  our  nurse's  milk.  When  we  return  to  our  parents, 
and  are  put  into  the  hands  of  tutors  and  governors,  we 
are  imbued  with  so  many  errors  that  truth  gives  place  to 
falsehood,  and  nature  herself  to  established  opinion. 

II.  To  these  we  may  add  the  poets  ;  who,  on  account  of 
the  appearance  they  exhibit  of  learning  and  wisdom,  are 
heard,  read,  and  got  by  heart,  and  make  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  our  minds.  But  when  to  these  are  added  the  peo- 
ple, who  are,  as  it  were,  one  great  body  of  instructors,  and 
the  multitude,  who  declare  unanimously  for  what  is  wrong, 
then  are  we  altogether  overwhelmed  with  bad  opinions, 
and  revolt  entirely  from  nature;  so  that  they  seem  to  de- 
prive us  of  our  best  guide  who  have  decided  that  there  is 
nothing  better  for  man,  nothing  more  worthy  of  being  de- 
sired by  him,  nothing  more  excellent,  than  honors  and 
commands,  and  a  high  reputation  with  the  people ;  which 
indeed  every  excellent  man  aims  at ;  but  while  he  pursues 
that  only  true  honor  which  nature  has  in  view  above  all 
other  objects,  he  finds  himself  busied  in  arrant  trifles,  and 
in  pursuit  of  no  conspicuous  form  of  virtue,  but  only  some 
shadowy  representation  of  glory.  For  glory  is  a  real  and 
express  substance,  not  a  mere  shadow.  It  consists  in  the 
united  praise  of  good  men,  the  free  voice  of  those  who 
form  a  true  judgment  of  pre-eminent  virtue;  it  is,  as  it 
were,  the  very  echo  of  virtue;  and  being  generally  the 
attendant  on  laudable  actions,  should  not  be  slighted  by 
good  men.  But  popular  fame,  which  would  pretend  to 
imitate  it,  is  hasty  and  inconsiderate,  and  generally  com- 
mends wicked  and  immoral  actions,  and  throws  discredit 
upon  the  appearance  and  beauty  of  honesty  by  assuming 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  93 

a  resemblance  of  it.  And  it  is  owing  to  their  not  beii liv- 
able to  discover  the  difference  between  them  that  some 
men,  ignorant  of  real  excellence,  and  in  what  it  consists, 
have  been  the  destruction  of  their  country  and  of  them- 
selves. And  thus  the  best  men  have  erred,  not  so  much 
in  their  intentions  as  by  a  mistaken  conduct.  What?  is 
no  cure  to  be  attempted  to  be  applied  to  those  who  are 
carried  away  by  the  love  of  money,  or  the  lust  of  pleasures, 
by  which  they  are  rendered  little  short  of  madmen,  which 
is  the  case  of  all  weak  people  ?  or  is  it  because  the  disor- 
ders of  the  mind  are  less  dangerous  than  those  of  the 
body  ?  or  because  the  body  will  admit  of  a  cure,  while 
thei'c  is  no  medicine  whatever  for  the  mind  ? 

III.  But  there  are  more  disorders  of  the  mind  than  of 
the  body,  and  they  are  of  a  more  dangerous  nature ;  for 
these  very  disorders  are  the  more  offensive  because  they 
belong  to  the  mind  and  disturb  it;  and  the  mind^  when 
disordered,  is,  as  Ennius  says,  in  a  constant  error :  it  can 
neither  bear  nor  endure  anything,  and  is  under  the  per- 
petual influence  of  desires.  Now,  what  disorders  can  be 
worse  to  the  body  than  these  tv\^o  distempers  of  the  mind 
(for  I  overlook  others),  weakness  and  desire?  But  how, 
indeed,  can  it  be  maintained  that  the  mind  cannot  pre- 
scribe for  itself,  when  she  it  is  who  has  invented  the  med- 
icines for  the  body,  when,  witli  regard  to  bodily  cures, 
constitution  and  nature  have  a  great  share,  nor  do  all  who 
suffer  themselves  to  be  cured  find  tliat  effect  instantly; 
but  those  minds  which  are  disposed  to  bo  cured,  and  sub- 
mit to  the  precepts  of  the  wise,  may  undoubtedly  recover 
a  healthy  state  ?  Philosophy  is  certainly  the  medicine  of 
the  soul,  whose  assistance  we  do  not  seek  from  abroad,  as 
in  bodily  disorders,  but  we  ourselves  are  bound  to  exert 
our  utmost  energy  and  power  in  order  to  effect  our  cure. 
But  as  to  philosophy  in  general,  I  have,  I  think,  in  my 
Hortensius,  sufficiently  spoken  of  the  credit  and  attention 
which  it  deserves:  since  that,  indeed,  I  have  been  contin- 
ually either  disputing  or  writing  on  its  most  material 
branches ;  and  I  have  laid  down  in  these  books  all  the  dis- 
cussions which  took  place  between  myself  and  my  particu- 
lar friends  at  my  Tusculan  villa.  But  as  I  have  spoken 
in  the  two  former  of  pain  and  death,  this  book  shall  be 


94  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

devoted  to  the  account  of  the  third  day  of  our  disputa- 
tions. 

We  came  down  into  the  Academy  when  the  day  was 
ah-eady  declining  towards  afternoon,  and  I  asked  one  of 
those  who  were  present  to  propose  a  subject  for  us  to  dis- 
course on ;  and  then  the  business  was  carried  on  in  this 
manner : 

IV.  A.  My  opinion  is,  that  a  wise  man  is  subject  to 
grief. 

M.  What,  and  to  the  other  perturbations  of  mind,  as 
fears,  lusts,  anger?  For  these  are  pretty  much  like  what 
the  Greeks  call  TraOri.  I  might  call  them  diseases,  and 
that  would  be  a  literal  translation,  but  it  is  not  agreeable 
to  our  way  of  speaking.  For  envy,  delight,  and  pleasure 
are  all  called  by  the  Greeks  diseases,  being  affections  of 
the  mind  not  in  subordination  to  reason ;  but  we,  I  think, 
are  right  in  calling  the  same  motions  of  a  disturbed  soul 
perturbations,  and  in  very  seldom  using  the  term  diseases; 
though,  perhaps,  it  appears  otherwise  to  you. 

A.  I  am  of  your  opinion. 

M.  And  do  you  think  a  wise  man  subject  to  these? 

A.  Entirely,  I  think. 

M.  Then  that  boasted  wisdom  is  but  of  small  account, 
if  it  differs  so  little  from  madness  ? 

A.  What?  does  every  commotion  of  the  mind  seem  to 
you  to  be  madness? 

31.  Not  to  me  only;  but  I  apprehend,  though  I  have 
often  been  surprised  at  it,  that  it  appeared  so  to  our  an- 
cestors many  ages  before  Socrates;  from  whom  is  derived 
all  that  philosophy  which  relates  to  life  and  morals. 

A.  How  so  ? 

M.  Because  the  name  madness^  implies  a  sickness  of 
the  mind  and  disease ;  that  is  to  say,  an  unsoundness  and 
an  unhealthiness  of  mind,  which  they  call  madness.  But 
the  philosophers  call  all  perturbations  of  the  soul  diseases, 
and  their  opinion  is  that  no  fool  is  ever  free  from  these ; 
but  all  that  are  diseased  are  unsound;  and  the  minds  of 
all  fools  arc  diseased ;  thei'efore  all  fools  are  mad.  For 
they  held  that  soundness  of  the  mind  depends  on  a  cer- 

*  Insnniii — from  in,  a  particle  of  negative  force  in  composition,  and 
sanus,  Jjcalthy,  sound. 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  96 

tain  tranquillity  and  steadiness;  and  a  mind  which  was 
destitute  of  these  qualities  they  called  insane,  because 
soundness  was  inconsistent  with  a  perturbed  mind  just 
as  much  as  with  a  disordered  body. 

V.  Nor  were  they  less  ingenious  in  calling  the  state  of 
the  soul  devoid  of  the  light  of  the  mind,  "  a  being  out  of 
one's  mind,"  '''  a  being  beside  one's  self."  From  whence 
we  may  understand  that  they  who  gave  these  names  to 
things  were  of  the  same  opinion  with  Socrates,  that  all 
silly  people  were  unsound,  which  the  Stoics  have  care- 
fully preserved  as  being  derived  from  him ;  for  whatever 
mind  is  distempered  (and,  as  I  just  now  said,  the  philoso- 
phers call  all  perturbed  motions  of  the  mind  distempers) 
is  no  more  sound  than  a  body  is  when  in  a  fit  of  sick- 
ness. Hence  it  is  that  wisdom  is  the  soundness  of  the 
mind,  folly  a  sort  of  unsoundness,  which  is  insanity,  or  a 
being  out  of  one's  mind:  and  these  are  much  better  ex- 
pressed by  the  Latin  words  than  the  Greek,  which  you 
will  find  the  case  also  in  many  other  topics.  But  we 
will  discuss  that  point  elsewhere:  let  us  now  attend  to 
our  present  subject.  The  very  meaning  of  the  word  de- 
scribes the  whole  thing  about  which  we  are  inquiring, 
both  as  to  its  substance  and  character.  For  we  must 
necessarily  understand  by  "sound"  those  whose  minds 
are  under  no  perturbation  from  any  motion  as  if  it  were 
a  disease.  They  who  are  differently  affected  we  must 
necessarily  call  "unsound."  So  that  nothing  is  better 
than  what  is  usual  in  Latin,  to  say  that  they  who  are  run 
away  with  by  their  lust  or  anger  have  quitted  the  com- 
mand over  themselves;  though  anger  includes  lust,  for 
anger  is  defined  to  be  the  lust  of  revenge.  They,  then, 
who  are  said  not  to  be  masters  of  themselves,  are  said 
to  be  so  because  they  are  not  under  the  government  of 
reason,  to  which  is  assigned  by  nature  the  power  over 
the  whole  soul.  Why  the  Greeks  should  call  this  ixavia^ 
I  do  not  easily  apprehend;  but  we  define  it  much  bet- 
ter than  they,  for  we  distinguish  this  madness  {insania), 
which,  being  allied  to  folly,  is  more  extensive,  from  what 
we  call  furor,  or  raving.  The  Greeks,  indeed,  would  do 
so  too,  l3ut  they  have  no  one  word  that  will  express  it : 
what  we  call  furor,  they  call  fieXayxoXia,  as  if  the  reason 


96  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

were  affected  only  by  a  black  bile,  and  not  disturbed  as 
often  by  a  violent  rage,  or  fear,  or  grief.  Thus  we  say 
Athamas,  Alcmajon,  Ajax,  and  Orestes  were  raving  (fu- 
rere) ;  because  a  person  affected  in  this  manner  was  not 
allowed  by  the  Twelve  Tables  to  have  the  management 
of  his  own  affairs ;  therefore  the  words  are  not,  if  he  is 
mad  {insamis),  but  if  he  begins  to  be  raving  (furiosus). 
For  they  looked  upon  madness  to  be  an  unsettled  humor 
that  proceeded  froui  not  being  of  sound  mind ;  yet  such 
a  person  might  perform  his  ordinary  duties,  and  dis- 
charge the  usual  and  customary  requirements  of  life :  but 
they  considered  one  that  v>'as  raving  as  afflicted  with  a 
total  blindness  of  the  mind,  which,  notwithstanding  it  is 
allowed  to  be  greater  than  madness,  is  nevertheless  of 
such  a  nature  that  a  wise  man  may  be  subject  to  raving 
(furor),  but  cannot  possibly  be  afflicted  by  insanity  (in- 
sania).  But  this  is  another  question:  let  us  now  return 
to  our  original  subject. 

VI.  I  think  you  said  that  it  was  your  opinion  that  a 
wise  man  was  liable  to  grief. 

A.  And  so,  indeed,  I  think. 

31.  It  is  natural  enough  to  think  so,  for  we  are  not  the 
offspring  of  flints;  but  we  have  by  nature  something  soft 
and  tender  in  our  souls,  which  may  be  put  into  a  violent 
motion  by  grief,  as  by  a  storm  ;  nor  did  that  Grantor,  who 
was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  that  our  Academy 
lias  ever  pro(5uced,  say  this  amiss :  "  I  am  by  no  means  of 
their  opinion  who  talk  so  much  in  praise  of  I  know  not 
what  insensibility,  which  neither  can  exist,  nor  ought  to 
exist.  "  I  would  choose,"  says  he,  "  never  to  be  ill ;  but 
should  I  be  so,  still  I  should  choose  to  retain  my  sensa- 
tion, whether  there  was  to  be  an  amputation  or  any  other 
separation  of  anything  from  my  body.  For  that  insensi- 
bility cannot  be  but  at  the  expense  of  some  unnatural  fe- 
rocity of  mind,  or  stupor  of  body."  But  let  us  consider 
whether  to  talk  in  this  manner  be  not  allowing  that  we 
are  weak,  and  yielding  to  our  softness.  Notwithstanding, 
let  us  be  hardy  enough,  not  only  to  lop  oft'  every  arm  of 
our  miseries,  but  even  to  pluck  up  every  fibre  of  their 
roots.  Yet  still  something,  perhaps,  may  be  left  behind, 
so  deep  does  folly  strike  its  roots:  but  whatever  may  be 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  97 

left,  it  will  bo  no  more  than  is  necessary.  Bat  let  us  be 
persuaded  of  this,  that  unless  the  mind  be  in  a  sound  state, 
which  philosophy  alone  can  effect,  there  can  be  no  end  of 
our  miseries.  Wherefore,  as  we  began,  let  us  submit  our- 
selves to  it  for  a  cure ;  we  shall  be  cured  if  we  choose  to 
be.  I  shall  advance  something  further.  I  shall  not  treat 
of  grief  alone,  though  that  indeed  is  the  principal  thing; 
but,  as  I  originally  proposed,  of  every  perturbation  of  the 
mind,  as  I  termed  it;  disorder,  as  the  Greeks  call  it:  and 
first,  witli  your  leave,  I  shall  treat  it  in  the  manner  of  the 
Stoics,  whose  method  is  to  reduce  their  arguments  into  a 
very  small  space;  afterward  I  shall  enlarge  more  in  my 
own  way. 

VII.  A  man  of  courage  is  also  full  of  faith.  I  do  not 
use  the  word  confident,  because,  owing  to  an  erroneous 
custom  of  speaking,  that  word  has  come  to  be  used  in  a 
bad  sense,  though  it  is  derived  from  confiding,  which  is 
commendable.  But  he  who  is  full  of  faith  is  certainly  un- 
der no  fear;  for  there  is  an  inconsistency  between  faith 
and  fear.  Now,  whoever  is  subject  to  grief  is  subject  to 
fear;  for  whatever  things  we  grieve  at  when  present  we 
dread  when  hanging  over  us  and  approaching.  Thus  it 
comes  about  that  grief  is  inconsistent  with  courage :  it  is 
very  probable,  therefore,  that  whoever  is  subject  to  grief 
is  also  liable  to  fear,  and  to  a  broken  kind  of  spirits  and 
sinking.  Now,  whenever  these  befall  a  man,  he  is  in  a 
servile  state,  and  must  own  that  he  is  overpowered ;  for 
whoever  admits  these  feelings,  must  admit  timidity  and 
cowardice.  But  these  cannot  enter  into  the  mind  of  a 
man  of  courage;  neither, therefore, can  grief:  but  the  man 
of  courage  is  the  only  wise  man;  therefore  grief  cannot 
befall  the  wise  man.  It  is,  besides,  necessary  that  w^hoever 
is  brave  should  be  a  man  of  great  soul ;  that  whoever  is  a 
man  of  a  great  soul  should  be  invincible ;  whoever  is  in- 
vincible looks  down  with  contempt  on  all  things  here,  and 
considers  them  beneath  him.  But  no  one  can  despise 
those  things  on  account  of  which  he  may  be  affected  with 
grief;  from  whence  it  follows  that  a  wise  man  is  never  af- 
fected with  grief :  for  all  wise  men  are  brave ;  therefore  a 
wise  man  is  not  subject  to  grief.  And  as  the  eye,  when 
disordered,  is  not  in  a  good  condition  for  performing  its 

5 


98  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

office  properly ;  and  as  the  other  parts,  and  the  whole 
body  itself,  when  unsettled,  cannot  perform  their  office 
and  business ;  so  the  mind,  when  disordered,  is  but  ill- 
fitted  to  perform  its  duty.  The  office  of  the  mind  is  to 
use  its  reason  well;  but  the  mind  of  a  wise  man  is  always 
in  condition  to  make  the  best  use  of  his  reason,  and  there- 
fore is  never  out  of  order.  But  grief  is  a  disorder  of  the 
mind ;  therefore  a  wise  man  will  be  always  free  from  it. 

VIII.  And  from  these  considerations  we  may  get  at  a 
very  probable  definition  of  the  temperate  man,  whom  the 
Greeks  call  aojcppioy:  and  they  call  that  virtue  (rojtppocruvrjy, 
which  I  at  one  time  call  temperance,  at  another  time  mod- 
eration, and  sometimes  even  modesty;  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  that  virtue  may  not  be  properly  called  frugality, 
which  has  a  more  confined  meaning  with  the  Greeks; 
for  they  call  frugal  men  -xprjcrlfiovg,  which  implies  only  that 
they  are  useful;  but  our  name  has  a  more  extensive  mean- 
ing: for  all  abstinence,  all  innocency  (which  the  Greeks 
have  no  ordinary  name  for,  though  they  might  use  the 
word  a/3\a/3fta,  for  innocency  is  that  disposition  of  mind 
which  would  offend  no  one)  and  several  other  virtues  are 
comprehended  under  frugality;  but  if  this  quality  were 
of  less  importance,  and  confined  in  as  small  a  compass  as 
some  imagine,  the  surname  of  Piso^  would  not  have  been 
in  so  great  esteem.  But  as  we  allow  him  not  the  name 
of  a  frugal  man  [frugi),  who  either  quits  his  post  through 
fear,  which  is  cowardice;  or  who  reserves  to  his  own  use 
what  was  privately  committed  to  his  keeping,  which  is  in- 
justice; or  who  fails  in  his  military  undertakings  through- 
rashness,  which  is  folly — for  that  reason  the  word  frugali- 
ty takes  in  these  three  virtues  of  fortitude,  justice,  and 
prudence,  though  it  is  indeed  common  to  all  virtues,  for 
they  are  all  connected  and  knit  together.  Let  us  allow, 
then,  frugality  itself  to  be  another  and  fourth  virtue;  for 
its  peculiar  property  seems  to  be,  to  govern  and  appease 
all  tendencies  to  too  eager  a  desire  after  anything,  to  re- 
strain lust,  and  to  preserve  a  decent  steadiness  in  every- 
thing. The  vice  in  contrast  to  this  is  called  prodigality 
(nequitia).      Frugality,  I   imagine,  is   derived   from   the 

*  The  man  who  first  received  this  surname  was  L.  Calpiirnins  Piso, 
who  was  consul,  133  B.C.,  in  the  Servile  War. 


ON   GRIEF  OF  MIND.  99 

word /ri/^e,  the  best  thing  wliicli  tlie  earth  produces;  ne- 
quitia  is  derived  (though  this  is  perhaps  rather  more 
strained;  still,  let  us  try  it;  we  shall  only  be  thought  to 
have  been  trifling  if  there  is  nothing  in  what  we  say)  from 
the  fact  of  everything  being  to  no  purpose  {nequicquam) 
in  such  a  man ;  from  which  circumstance  he  is  called  also 
Nihil,  nothing.  Whoever  is  frugal,  then,  or,  if  it  is  more 
agreeable  to  you,  whoever  is  moderate  and  temperate,  such 
a  one  must  of  course  be  consistent ;  whoever  is  consistent, 
must  be  quiet;  the  quiet  man  must  be  free  from  all  per- 
turbation, therefore  from  grief  likewise:  and  these  are  the 
properties  of  a  wise  man ;  therefore  a  wise  man  must  be 
f i-ee  from  grief. 

IX.  So  that  Dionysius  of  Heraclea  is  right  when,  upon 
this  complaint  of  Achilles  in  Homer, 

Well  hast  thon  spoke,  but  at  the  tyrant's  name 
My  rage  rekindles,  and  my  soul's  in  flame : 
'Tis  just  resentment,  and  becomes  the  brave, 
Disgraced,  dishonor'd  like  the  vilest  slave^ — 

he  reasons  thus:  Is  the  hand  as  it  should  be,  when  it  is 
affected  with  a  swelling?  or  is  it  possible  for  any  other 
member  of  the  body,  when  swollen  or  enlarged,  to  be  in  any 
other  than  a  disordered  state?  Must  not  the  mind, then, 
when  it  is  puffed  up,  or  distended,  be  out  of  order?  But 
the  mind  of  a  wise  man  is  always  free  from  every  kind  of 
disorder:  it  never  swells,  never  is  puffed  up;  but  the  mind 
when  in  anger  is  in  a  different  state.  A  wise  man,  there- 
fore, is  never  angry;  for  when  he  is  angry,  he  lusts  after 
something;  for  whoever  is  angry  naturally  has  a  longing 
desire  to  give  all  the  pain  he  can  to  the  person  who  he 
thinks  has  injured  him;  and  whoever  has  this  earnest 
desire  must  necessarily  be  much  pleased  with  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  wishes;  hence  he  is  delighted  with  his 
neighbor's  misery;  and  as  a  wise  man  is  not  capable  of 
such  feelings  as  these,  he  is  therefore  not  capable  of  anger. 
But  should  a  wise  man  be  subject  to  grief,  he  may  like- 

*  The  Greek  is, 

'AWri  /uot  oibitveTat  Kpahit]  x6\io  ottttot'  6Ke'ivov 
MvrjaoiJiut  09  ix  ucTu^t]\ov  tf  'Ap-yet'oto-tv  tpe^ev. — II.  ix.  642. 

I  have  given  Pope's  translation  in  the  text. 


100  TJIE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

wise  be  subject  to  anger;  for  as  he  is  free  from  anger,  he 
must  likewise  be  free  from  grief.  Again,  could  a  wise 
man  be  subject  to  grief,  he  might  also  be  liable  to  pity,  or 
even  might  be  open  to  a  disposition  towards  envy  {inviden- 
tki) ;  I  do  not  say  to  envy  {invidia),  for  that  can  only  ex- 
ist by  the  very  act  of  envying :  but  we  may  fairly  form  the 
word  invidentia  from  invidendo,  and  so  avoid  the  doubt- 
ful name  iiividla;  for  this  word  is  probably  derived  from 
in  and  video,  looking  too  closely  into  another's  fortune ; 
as  it  is  said  in  the  Melanippus, 

Who  envies  me  the  flower  of  my  children  ? 

where  the  Latin  is  invidit  florem.  It  may  appear  not 
good  Latin,  but  it  is  very  well  put  by  Accius ;  for  as  video 
governs  an  accusative  case,  so  it  is  more  correct  to  say  in- 
video  floretn  than  j^or/.  We  are  debarred  from  saying  so 
by  common  usage.  The  poet  stood  in  his  own  right,  and 
expressed  himself  with  more  freedom. 

X.  Therefore  compassion  and  envy  are  consistent  in  the 
same  man ;  for  whoever  is  uneasy  at  any  one's  adversity 
is  also  uneasy  at  another's  prosperity:  as  Theophrastus, 
while  he  laments  the  death  of  his  companion  Callisthenes, 
is  at  the  same  time  disturbed  at  the  success  of  Alexander; 
and  therefore  he  says  that  Callisthenes  met  with  a  man  of 
the  greatest  power  and  good  fortune,  but  one  who  did  not 
know  how  to  make  use  of  his  good  fortune.  And  as  pity 
is  an  uneasiness  which  arises  from  the  misfortunes  of  an- 
other, so  envy  is  an  uneasiness  that  proceeds  from  the  good 
success  of  another :  therefore  whoever  is  capable  of  pity  is 
capable  of  envy.  But  a  wise  man  is  incapable  of  envy, 
and  consequently  incapable  of  pity.  But  were  a  wise  man 
used  to  grieve,  to  pity  also  would  be  familiar  to  him ;  there- 
fore to  grieve  is  a  feeling  which  cannot  affect  a  Avise  man. 
Now,  though  these  reasonings  of  the  Stoics,  and  their  con- 
clusions, are  rather  strained  and  distorted,  and  ought  to  be 
expressed  in  a  less  stringent  and  narrow  manner,  yet  great 
stress  is  to  be  laid  on  the  opinions  of  those  men  who  have 
a  peculiarly  bold  and  manly  turn  of  thought  and  sentiment. 
For  our  friends  the  Peripatetics,  notwithstanding  all  their 
erudition,  gravity,  and  fluency  of  language,  do  not  satisfy 
me  about  the  moderation  of  these  disorders  and  diseases 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  ,   ,    ,  _101 

o  '  ,--'  •  »  ■'  iv  '•'  '•  • ,'-  ■•' "  •  ' 
of  the  soul  which  they  insist  lipon  ;foi^  every ^i;l,»t)l6tiglt 
moderate,  is  in  its  nature  great.  But  our  object  is  to 
make  out  that  tlie  wise  man  is  free  from  all  evil ;  for  as 
the  body  is  unsound  if  it  is  ever  so  slightly  affected,  so  the 
mind  under  any  moderate  disorder  loses  its  soundness; 
therefoi-e  the  Romans  have,  with  their  usual  accuracy  of 
expression,  called  trouble,  and  anguish,  and  vexation,  on 
account  of  the  analogy  between  a  troubled  mind  and  a 
diseased  body,  disorders.  The  Greeks  call  all  perturbation 
of  mind  by  pretty  nearly  the  same  name;  for  they  name 
every  turbid  motion  of  the  soul  ttuSoc,  that  is  to  say,  a  dis- 
temper. But  we  have  given  them  a  more  proper  name ; 
for  a  disorder  of  the  mind  is  very  like  a  disease  of  the 
body.  But  lust  does  not  resemble  sickness ;  neither  does 
immoderate  joy,  which  is  an  elated  and  exulting  pleas- 
ure of  the  mind.  Fear,  too,  is  not  very  like  a  distemper, 
though  it  is  akin  to  grief  of  mind,  but  properly,  as  is  also 
the  case  with  sickness  of  the  body,  so  too  sickness  of  mind 
has  no  name  separated  from  pain.  And  therefore  I  must 
explain  the  origin  of  this  pain,  that  is  to  say,  the  cause  that 
occasions  this  grief  in  the  mind,  as  if  it  were  a  sickness  of 
the  body.  For  as  physicians  think  they  have  found  out 
the  cure  when  they  have  discovered  the  cause  of  the  dis- 
temper, so  we  shall  discover  tlie  method  of  curing  melan- 
choly when  the  cause  of  it  is  found  out. 

XL  The  wdiole  cause,  then,  is  in  opinion;  and  this  ob- 
servation applies  not  to  this  grief  alone,  but  to  every  other 
disorder  of  the  mind,  which  are  of  four  sorts,  but  consist- 
ing of  many  parts.  For  as  every  disorder  or  perturbation 
is  a  motion  of  the  mind,  either  devoid  of  reason,  or  in  de- 
spite of  reason,  or  in  disobedience  to  reason,  and  as  that 
motion  is  excited  by  an  opinion  of  either  good  or  evil; 
these  four  perturbations  are  divided  equally  into  two 
parts :  for  two  of  them  proceed  from  an  opinion  of  good, 
one  of  which  is  an  exulting  pleasure,  that  is  to  say,  a  joy 
elated  beyond  measure,  arising  from  an  opinion  of  some 
present  great  good ;  the  other  is  a  desire  which  may  fairly 
be  called  even  a  lust,  and  is  an  immoderate  inclination  af- 
ter some  conceived  great  good  without  any  obedience  to 
reason.  Therefore  these  two  kinds,  the  exulting  pleasure 
and  the  lust,  have  their  rise  from  an  opinion  of  good,  as 


102  .THE.  TUSGIH^AN  DISPUTATIONS. 

the^bthev  tY^o,  ie&r  m\^  ^nfe'f,  have  from  an  opinion  of  evil. 
For  fear  is  an  opinion  of  some  great  evil  impending  over 
us,  and  grief  is  an  opinion  of  some  great  evil  present;  and, 
indeed,  it  is  a  freslily  conceived  o])inion  of  an  evil  so  great 
that  to  grieve  at  it  seems  right:  it  is  of  that  kind  that  he 
who  is  uneasy  at  it  thinks  he  has  good  reason  to  be  so. 
Now  we  should  exert  our  utmost  efforts  to  oppose  these 
perturbations — which  are,  as  it  were,  so  many  furies  let 
loose  upon  us  and  urged  on  by  folly — if  we  are  desirous 
to  pass  this  share  of  life  that  is  allotted  to  us  with  ease 
and  satisfaction.  But  of  the  other  feelings  I  shall  speak 
elsewhere :  our  business  at  present  is  to  drive  away  grief 
if  we  can,  for  that  shall  be  the  object  of  our  present  dis- 
cussion, since  you  have  said  that  it  was  your  opinion  that 
a  wise  man  might  be  subject  to  grief,  which  I  can  by  no 
means  allow  of;  for  it  is  a  frightful,  miserable,  and  detest- 
able thing,  which  we  should  fly  from  with  our  utmost  ef- 
forts— with  all  our  sails  and  oars,  as  I  may  say. 

XIL  That  descendant  of  Tantalus,  how  does  he  appear 
to  you — he  who  sprung  from  Pelops,  who  formerly  stole 
Ilippodamia  from  her  father-in-law.  King  (Enomaus,  and 
married  her  by  force? — he  who  was  descended  from  Ju- 
piter himself,  how  broken-hearted  and  dispirited  does  he 
not  seem ! 

Stand  off,  my  friends,  nor  come  within  my  shade, 
That  no  pollutions  your  sound  hearts  pervade, 
So  foul  a  stain  my  body  doth  partake. 

Will  you  condemn  yourself,  Thyestes,  and  deprive  yourself 
of  life,  on  account  of  the  greatness  of  another's  crime? 
What  do  you  think  of  that  son  of  Pha3bus?  Do  you  not 
look  upon  him  as  unworthy  of  his  own  father's  light? 

Hollow  his  eyes,  his  body  worn  away. 
His  furrow'd  cheeks  his  frequent  tears  betray  ; 
His  beard  neglected,  and  his  hoary  hairs 
Hough  and  uncomb'd,  bespeak  his  bitter  cares. 

O  foolish  ^etes  !  these  are  evils  which  you  yourself  have 
been  the  cause  of,  and  are  not  occasioned  by  any  accidents 
with  which  chance  has  visited  you;  and  you  behaved  as 
you  did,  even  after  you  had  been  inured  to  your  distress, 
and  after  the  first  swelling  of  the  mind  had  subsided  !— 
whereas  grief  consists  (as  I  shall  show)  in  the  notion  of 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  103 

some  recent  evil — but  your  grief,  it  is  very  plain,  proceeded 
from  the  loss  of  your  kingdom,  not  of  your  daughter,  for 
you  hated  her,  and  perhaps  with  reason,  but  you  could  not 
calmly  bear  to  part  with  your  kingdom.  But  surely  it 
is  an  impudent  grief  which  preys  upon  a  man  for  not  be- 
ing able  to  command  those  that  are  free.  Dionysius,  it  is 
true,  the  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  when  driven  from  his  country, 
taught  a  school  at  Corinth ;  so  incapable  was  he  of  living 
without  some  authority.  But  what  could  be  more  impu- 
dent than  Tarquin,  who  made  war  upon  those  who  could 
not  bear  his  tyranny;  and,  Avhen  he  could  not  recover  his 
kingdom  by  the  aid  of  the  forces  of  the  Veientians  and 
the  Latins,  is  said  to  have  betaken  himself  to  Cuma,  and 
to  have  died  in  that  city  of  old  age  and  grief ! 

XIII.  Do  you,  then,  think  that  it  can  befall  a  wise  man 
to  be  oppressed  with  grief,  that  is  to  say,  with  misery  ? 
for,  as  all  perturbation  is  misery,  grief  is  the  rack  itself. 
Lust  is  attended  with  heat,  exulting  joy  with  levity,  fear 
with  meanness,  but  grief  with  something  greater  than 
these ;  it  consumes,  torments,  afflicts,  and  disgraces  a  man  ; 
it  tears  him,  preys  upon  his  mind,  and  utterly  destroys 
him :  if  we  do  not  so  divest  ourselves  of  it  as  to  throw  it 
completely  off,  we  cannot  be  free  from  misery.  And  it  is 
clear  that  there  must  be  grief  where  anything  has  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  present  sore  and  oppressing  evil.  Epicurus 
is  of  opinion  that  grief  arises  naturally  from  the  imagina- 
tion of  any  evil;  so  that  whosoever  is  eye-witness  of  any 
great  misfortune,  if  he  conceives  that  the  like  may  pos- 
sibly befall  himself,  becomes  sad  instantly  from  such  an 
idea.  The  Cyrenaics  think  that  grief  is  not  engendered 
by  every  kind  of  evil,  but  only  by  unexpected,  unforeseen 
evil;  and  that  circumstance  is,  indeed,  of  no  small  effect 
on  the  heightening  of  grief;  for  whatsoever  comes  of  a 
sudden  appears  more  formidable.  Hence  these  Hues  are 
deservedly  commended : 

I  knew  my  son,  when  first  he  drew  his  breath, 
Destined  by  fate  to  an  untimely  death  ; 
And  when  I  sent  him  to  defend  the  Greeks, 
War  was  his  business,  not  your  sportive  freaks. 

Xiy.  Therefore,  this  ruminating  beforehand  upon  fut- 
ure evils  which  you  see  at  a  distance  makes  their  approach 


104  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

more  tolerable ;  and  on  this  account  what  Euripides  makes 
Theseus  say  is  much  commended.  You  will  give  me  leave 
to  translate  them,  as  is  usual  with  me : 

I  treasured  up  what  some  learn'd  sage  did  tell, 

And  on  my  future  misery  did  dwell ; 

I  thought  of  bitter  death,  of  being  drove 

Far  from  my  home  by  exile,  and  I  strove 

With  every  evil  to  possess  my  mind. 

That,  when  they  came,.I  the  less  care  might  find.^ 

But  Euripides  says  that  of  himself,  which  Theseus  said  he 
had  heard  from  some  learned  man,  for  the  poet  had  been 
a  pupil  of  Anaxagoras,  who,  as  they  relate,  on  hearing  of 
the  death  of  his  son,  said, "  I  knew  that  my  son  was  mor- 
tal;" which  speech  seems  to  intimate  that  such  tilings 
afflict  those  men  who  have  not  thought  on  them  befoi-e. 
Therefore,  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  all  those  things  whicli 
are  considered  evils  are  the  heavier  from  not  being  fore- 
seen. Though,  notwithstanding  this  is  not  the  only  cir- 
cumstance which  occasions  the  greatest  grief,  still,  as  the 
mind,  by  foreseeing  and  preparing  for  it,  has  great  power 
to  make  all  grief  the  less,  a  man  should  at  all  times  consid- 
er all  the  events  that  may  befall  him  in  this  life ;  and  cer- 
tainly the  excellence  and  divine  nature  of  wisdom  consists 
in  taking  a  near  view  of,  and  gaining  a  thorough  acquaint- 
ance with,  all  human  affairs,  in  not  being  surprised  when 
anything  happens,  and  in  thinking,  before  the  event,  that 
there  is  nothing  but  what  may  come  to  pass. 

Wherefore  ev'ry  man, 
When  his  affairs  go  on  most  swimmingly, 
E'en  then  it  most  behooves  to  arm  himself 
Against  the  coming  storm  :  loss,  danger,  exile, 
Returning  ever,  let  him  look  to  meet ; 
His  son  in  fault,  wife  dead,  or  daughter  sick  : 
All  common  accidents,  and  may  have  happen'd 
That  nothing  shall  seem  new  or  strange.     But  if 
Aught  has  fall'n  out  beyond  his  hopes,  all  that 
Let  him  account  clear  gain.'' 

*  This  is  from  the  Theseus : 

'Eyu>  6e  TOVTO  napu  cro<pov  tivo?  naOuiv 
elv  <pf}ovrida<!  voZv  (rviJL(j>opiii  t'  t/3aXA<)jLinv 
(jyv^dv'T   e/iufTcp  7rpo(TT«(/t<9  Trarpav  fr7i»)9. 
OavuTOVi  t'  uwpov^,  Kai  kukwv  (iXXay  odovv 

M>;  fioi  vkopjov  ■npoamaov  jUaWoi/  duKOi. 

»  Tcr.  rhorm.  II.  i.  11. 


ON   GRIEF  OF  MIND.  105 

XV.  Therefore,  as  Terence  has  so  well  expressed  what 
he  borrowed  from  philosophy,  shall  not  we,  from  whose 
fountains  he  drew  it,  say  the  same  thing  in  a  better  man- 
ner, and  abide  by  it  witli  more  steadiness  ?  Hence  came 
that  steady  countenance,  whicli,  according  to  Xantippe, 
her  husband  Socrates  always  had;  so  that  she  said  that 
she  never  observed  any  difference  in  his  looks  when  he 
went  out  and  when  he  came  home.  Yet  the  look  of  that 
old  Roman,  M.  Crassus,  who,  as  Lucilius  says,  never  smiled 
but  once  in  his  lifetime,  was  not  of  this  kind,  but  placid 
and  serene,  for  so  we  are  told.  He,  indeed,  might  well 
have  had  the  same  look  at  all  times  who  never  changed 
his  mind,  from  which  the  countenance  derives  its  expres- 
sion. So  that  I  am  ready  to  borrow  of  the  Cyrenaics 
those  arms  against  the  accidents  and  events  of  life  by 
means  of  which,  by  long  premeditation,  they  break  the 
force  of  all  approaching  evils;  and  at  the  same  time  I 
think  that  those  very  evils  themselves  arise  more  from 
opinion  tlian  nature,  for  if  they  were  real,  no  forecast  could 
make  them  lighter.  But  I  shall  speak  more  particularly 
on  these  matters  after  I  have  first  considered  Epicurus's 
opinion,  who  thinks  that  all  people  must  necessarily  be 
uneasy  who  believe  themselves  to  be  in  any  evils,  let  them 
be  either  foreseen  and  expected,  or  habitual  to  them;  for 
with  him  evils  are  not  the  less  by  reason  of  their  contin- 
uance, nor  the  lighter  for  having  been  foreseen ;  and  it 
is  folly  to  ruminate  on  evils  to  come,  or  such  as,  perhaps, 
never  may  come :  every  evil  is  disagreeable  enough  when 
it  does  come ;  but  he  who  is  constantly  considering  that 
some  evil  may  befall  him  is  loading  himself  with  a  perpet- 
ual evil ;  and  even  should  such  evil  never  light  on  him,  he 
voluntarily  takes  upon  himself  uimecessary  misery,  so  that 
he  is  under  constant  uneasiness,  whether  he  actually  suf- 
fers any  evil,  or  only  thinks  of  it.  But  he  makes  the  alle- 
viation of  grief  depend  on  two  things — a  ceasing  to  think 
on  evil,  and  a  turning  to  the  contemplntion  of  pleasure. 
For  he  thinks  that  the  mind  may  possibly  be  under  the 
power  of  reason,  and  follow  her  directions :  he  forbids  us, 
therefore,  to  mind  trouble,  and  calls  us  off  from  sorrowful 
reflections;  he  throws  a  mist  over  our  eyes  to  hinder  us 
from  the  contemplation  of  misery.     Having  sounded  a  rc- 

5* 


106  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

treat  from  this  statement,  he  drives  our  thoughts  on  again, 
and  encouraojes  them  to  view  and  enoraoe  the  wliole  mind 
in  the  various  pleasures  with  which  he  thinks  the  life  of 
a  wise  man  abounds,  either  from  reflecting  on  the  past, 
or  from  the  hope  of  what  is  to  come.  I  have  said  tliese 
things  in  my  own  way ;  the  Epicureans  have  theirs.  How- 
ever, let  us  examine  what  they  say ;  how  they  say  it  is  of 
little  consequence. 

XVI.  In  the  first  place,  they  are  wrong  in  forbidding 
men  to  premeditate  on  futurity  and  blaming  their  wish  to 
do  so ;  for  there,  is  nothing  that  breaks  the  edge  of  grief 
and  lightens  it  more  tlian  considering,  during  one's  whole 
life,  that  there  is  nothing  which  it  is  impossible  should 
happen,  or  than,  considering  what  human  nature  is,  on 
what  conditions  life  was  given,  and  how  we  may  comply 
with  them.  The  effect  of  which  is  that  we  are  always 
grieving,  but  that  we  never  do  so ;  for  whoever  reflects  on 
the  nature  of  things,  the  various  turns  of  life,  and  the  weak- 
ness of  human  nature,  grieves,  indeed,  at  that  reflection ; 
but  while  so  grieving  he  is,  above  all  other  times,  behaving 
as  a  wise  man,  for  he  gains  these  two  things  by  it:  one, 
that  while  he  is  considering  the  state  of  human  nature  he 
is  performing  the  especial  duties  of  philosophy,  and  is  pro- 
vided with  a  triple  medicine  against  adversity — in  the  first 
place,  because  he  has  long  reflected  that  such  things  might 
befall  him,  and  this  reflection  by  itself  contributes  much 
towards  lessening  and  weakening  all  misfortunes;  and,  sec- 
ondly, because  he  is  persuaded  that  we  should  bear  all  the 
accidents  which  can  happen  to  man  with  the  feelings  and 
spirit  of  a  man;  and, lastly,  because  he  considers  that  what 
is  blamable  is  the  only  evil.  But  it  is  not  your  fault  that 
something  haj  happened  to  you  which  it  was  impossible 
for  man  to  avoid.  For  that  withdrawing  of  our  thoughts 
which  he  recommends  when  he  calls  us  off  from  contem- 
plating our  misfortunes  is  an  imaginary  action ;  for  it  is 
not  in  our  power  to  dissemble  or  to  forget  those  evils  which 
lie  heavy  on  us;  they  tear,  vex,  and  sting  us  —  they  burn 
us  up,  and  leave  no  breathing-time.  And  do  you  order  us 
to  forget  them  (for  such  forgetfulness  is  contrary  to  nat- 
ure), and  at  the  same  time  deprive  us  of  the  only  assist- 
ance which  nature  affords,  the  beinc:  accustomed  to  them? 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  107 

For  that,  though  it  is  but  a  slow  medicine  (I  mean  that 
which  is  brought  by  lapse  of  time),  is  still  a  very  effectual 
one.  You  order  me  to  employ  my  thoughts  on  something 
good,  and  forget  my  misfortunes.  You  would  say  some- 
thing Avorthy  a  great  philosopher  if  you  thought  those 
things  good  which  are  best  suited  to  the  dignity  of  human 
nature. 

XVII.  Should  Pythagoras,  Socrates,  or  Plato  say  to  me, 
Why  are  you  dejected  or  sad?  Why  do  you  faint,  and 
yield  to  fortune,  which,  perhaps,  may  have  power  to  harass 
and  disturb  you,  but  should  not  quite  unman  you?  There 
is  great  power  in  the  virtues ;  rouse  them,  if  they  chance 
to  droop.  Take  fortitude  for  your  guide,  which  will  give 
you  such  spirits  that  you  will  despise  everything  that  can 
befall  man,  and  look  on  it  as  a  trifle.  Add  to  this  temper- 
ance, which  is  moderation,  and  which  was  just  now  called 
frugality,  which  will  not  suffer  you  to  do  anything  base  or 
bad — for  what  is  woi'se  or  baser  than  an  effeminate  man  ? 
Not  even  justice  will  suffer  you  to  act  in  this  manner, 
though  she  seems  to  have  the  least  weight  in  this  affair ; 
but  still,  notwithstanding,  even  she  will  inform  you  that 
you  are  doubly  unjust  Avhen  you  both  require  what  does 
not  belong  to  you,  inasmuch  as  though  you  who  have  been 
born  mortal  demand  to  be  placed  in  the  condition  of  the 
immortals,  and  at  the  same  time  you  take  it  much  to  heart 
that  you  are  to  restore  what  was  lent  you.  What  answer 
will  you  make  to  prudence,  who  informs  you  that  she  is 
a  virtue  sufficient  of  herself  both  to  teach  you  a  good  life 
and  also  to  secure  you  a  happy  one?  And,  indeed,  if  she 
were  fettered  by  external  circumstances,  and  dependent  on 
others,  and  if  she  did  not  originate  in  herself  and  return  to 
lierself,  and  also  embrace  everything  in  herself,  so  as  to 
seek  no  adventitious  aid  from  any  quarter,  I  cannot  imag- 
ine why  she  should  appear  deserving  of  such  lofty  pane- 
gyrics, or  of  being  sought  after  with  such  excessive  eager- 
ness. Now,  Epicurus,  if  you  call  me  back  to  such  goods 
as  these,  I  will  obey  you,  and  follow  you,  and  use  you  as 
my  guide,  and  even  forget,  as  you  order  me,  all  my  mis- 
fortunes ;  and  I  will  do  this  the  more  readily  from  a  per- 
suasion that  they  are  not  to  be  ranked  among  evils  at  all. 
But  you  are  for  bringing  my  thoughts  over  to  pleasure. 


108  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

What  pleasures?  Pleasures  of  the  body,  I  imagine,  or 
such  as  are  recollected  or  imagined  on  account  of  the 
body.  Is  this  all?  Do  I  explain  your  opinion  riglitly? 
for  your  disciples  are  used  to  deny  that  we  understand  at 
all  what  -Epicurus  means.  This  is  what  he  says,  and  wliat 
that  subtle  fellow,  old  Zeno,  who  is  one  of  the  sharpest  of 
them,  used,  when  I  was  attending  lectures  at  Athens,  to 
enforce  and  talk  so  loudly  of;  saying  that  he  alone  was 
liappy  who  could  enjoy  present  pleasure,  and  who  was  at 
the  same  time  persuaded  that  he  should  enjoy  it  without 
pain,  either  during  the  whole  or  the  greatest  part  of  his 
life ;  or  if,  should  any  pain  interfere,  if  it  was  very  sharp, 
then  it  must  be  short;  should  it  be  of  longer  continuance, 
it  would  have  more  of  what  was  sweet  than  bitter  in  it; 
that  whosoever  reflected  on  these  things  would  be  happy, 
especially  if  satisfied  with  the  good  things  which  he  had 
already  enjoyed,  and  if  he  were  without  fear  of  death  or 
of  the  Gods. 

XVIII.  You  have  here  a  representation  of  a  happy  life 
according  to  Epicurus,  in  the  words  of  Zeno,  so  that  there 
is  no  room  for  contradiction  in  any  j^oint.  What,  then  ? 
Can  the  proposing  and  thinking  of  such  a  life  make  Thy- 
estes's  grief  the  less,  or  ^etes's,  of  whom  I  spoke  above, 
or  Telamon's,  who  was  driven  from  his  country  to  penury 
and  banishment?  in  wonder  at  whom  men  exclaimed  thus: 

Is  tliis  the  man  surpassing  glory  raised? 

Is  this  that  Telamon  so  highly  praised 

By  wondering  Greece,  at  whose  sight,  like  the  sun, 

All  others  with  diminish'd  lustre  shone  ? 

Now,  should  any  one,  as  the  same  author  says,  find  his 
spirits  sink  with  the  loss  of  his  fortune,  he  must  apply  to 
those  grave  philosophers  of  antiquity  for  relief,  and  not  to 
these  voluptuaries :  for  what  great  abundance  of  good  do 
they  promise?  Suppose  that  we  allow  that  to  be  without 
pain  is  the  chief  good?  Yet  that  is  not  called  pleasure. 
But  it  is  not  necessary  at  present  to  go  through  the  whole : 
the  question  is,  to  what  point  are  we  to  advance  in  order 
to  abate  our  grief?  Grant  that  to  be  in  pain  is  the  great- 
est evil :  whosoever,  then,  has  proceeded  so  far  as  not  to 
be  in  pain,  is  he,  therefore,  in  immediate  possession  of  the 
greatest  good  ?     Why,  Epicurus,  do  we  use  any  evasions, 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  109 

and  not  allow  in  our  own  words  the  same  feeling  to  be 
pleasure  which  you  are  used  to  boast  of  with  such  assur- 
ance? Are  these  your  words  or  not?'  This  is  what  you 
say  in  that  book  which  contains  all  the  doctrine  of  your 
school;  for  I  will  perform  on  this  occasion  the  office  of 
a  translator,  lest  any  one  should  imagine  that  I  am  invent- 
ing anything.  Thus  you  speak;  "Nor  can  I  form  any 
notion  of  the  chief  good,  abstracted  from  those  pleasures 
which  are  perceived  by  taste,  or  from  what  depends  on 
hearing  music,  or  abstracted  from  ideas  raised  by  exter- 
nal objects  visible  to  the  eye,  or  by  agreeable  motions,  or 
from  those  other  pleasures  which  are  perceived  by  the 
whole  man  by  means  of  any  of  his  senses;  nor  can  it  pos- 
sibly be  said  that  the  pleasures  of  the  mind  are  excited 
only  by  what  is  good,  for  I  have  perceived  men's  minds 
to  be  pleased  with  the  hopes  of  enjoying  those  things 
which  I  mentioned  above,  and  with  the  idea  that  it  should 
enjoy  them  without  any  interruption  from  pain."  And 
these  are  his  exact  words,  so  that  any  one  may  understand 
what  were  the  pleasures  with  which  Epicurus  was  ac- 
quainted. Then  he  speaks  thus,  a  little  lower  down:  "I 
have  often  inquired  of  those  who  have  been  called  wise  men 
what  would  be  the  remaining  good  if  they  should  exclude 
from  consideration  all  these  pleasures,  unless  they  meant 
to  give  us  nothing  but  words.  I  could  never  learn  any- 
thing from  them;  and  unless  they  choose  that  all  virtue 
and  wisdom  should  vanish  and  come  to  nothing,  they  must 
say  with  me  that  the  only  road  to  happiness  lies  through 
those  pleasures  which  I  mentioned  above."  What  fol- 
lows is  much  the  same,  and  his  whole  book  on  the  chief 
good  everywhere  abounds  with  the  same  opinions.  Will 
you,  then,  invite  Telamon  to  this  kind  of  life  to  ease  his 
grief?  And  should  you  observe  any  one  of  your  friends 
under  affliction,  would  you  rather  prescribe  him  a  stur- 
geon than  a  treatise  of  Socrates?  or  advise  him  to  listen 
to  the  music  of  a  water-organ  rather  than  to  Plato?  or 
lay  before  him  the  beauty  and  variety  of  some  garden, 
put  a  nosegay  to  his  nose,  burn  perfumes  before  him,  and 
bid  him  crown  himself  with  a  garland  of  roses  and  wood- 
bines? Should  you  add  one  thing  more,  you  would  cer- 
tainly wipe  out  all  his  grief. 


110  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

XIX.  Epicurus  must  admit  these  arguments,  or  he  must 
take  out  of  his  book  what  I  just  now  said  was  a  literal 
translation ;  or,  rather,  he  must  destroy  his  whole  book, 
for  it  is  crammed  full  of  pleasures.  We  must  inquire, 
then,  how  we  can  ease  him  of  his  grief  who  speaks  in  this 
manner: 

My  present  state  proceeds  from  fortune's  stings  ; 
By  birth  I  boast  of  a  descent  from  kings; 
Hence  may  you  see  from  what  a  noble  height 
I"m  sunic  by  fortune  to  this  abject  pHght. 

What!  to  ease  his  grief,  must  we  mix  him  a  cup  of  sweet 
wine,  or  something  of  that  kind  ?  Lo  !  the  same  poet  pre- 
sents us  with  another  sentiment  somewhere  else : 

I,  Hector,  once  so  great,  now  chiim  your  aid. 
We  should  assist  her,  for  she  looks  out  for  help: 

Where  shall  I  now  ap])ly,  where  seek  support  ? 
Where  hence  betake  me,  or  to  whom  resort  ? 
No  means  reninin  of  comfort  or  of  joy, 
In  flames  my  pahice,  and  in  ruins  Troy ; 
Each  wall,  so  late  superb,  deformed  nods, 
And  not  an  altar's  left  t'  appease  the  Gods. 

You  know^  what  should  follow,  and  particularly  this : 

Of  father,  country,  nnd  of  friends  bereft, 
Not  one  of  all  tliese  sumptuous  temples  left. 
Which,  wbile  tlie  fortune  of  our  house  did  stand, 
With  rich-wrought  ceilings  spoke  the  artist's  hand. 

O  excellent  poet !  though  despised  by  those  who  sing  the 
verses  of  Euphorion.  He  is  sensible  that  all  things  which 
come  on  a  sudden  are  harder  to  be  borne.  Therefore, 
when  he  had  set  oft'  the  riches  of  Priam  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, which  had  the  appearance  of  a  long  continuance, 
what  does  he  add  ? 

Lo !  these  all  perish'd  in  one  blazing  pile ; 
The  foe  old  Priam  of  bis  life  beguiled, 
And  with  his  blood,  thy  altar,  Jove,  defiled. 

Admirable  poetry !  There  is  something  mournful  in  the 
subject,  as  well  as  in  the  words  and  measure.  We  must 
drive  away  this  grief  of  hers:  liow  is  that  to  be  done? 
Shall  we  lay  her  on  a  bed  of  down;  introduce  a  singer; 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  Ill 

shall  we  burn  cedar,  or  present  her  with  some  pleasant 
liquor,  and  provide  her  something  to  eat?  Are  these  the 
good  things  which  remove  the  most  afflicting  grief  ?  For 
you  but  just  now  said  you  knew  of  no  other  good.  I 
should  agree  with  Epicurus  that  we  ought  to  be  called  off 
from  grief  to  contemplate  good  things,  if  we  could  only 
agree  upon  wliat  was  good. 

XX.  It  may  be  said,  What !  do  you  imagine  Epicurus 
really  meant  this,  and  that  he  maintained  anything  so  sen- 
sual ?  Indeed  I  do  not  imagine  so,  for  I  am  sensible  that 
he  has  uttered  many  excellent  things  and  sentiments,  and 
delivered  maxims  of  great  weight.  Therefore,  as  I  said 
before,  I  am  speaking  of  his  acuteness,  not  of  his  morals. 
Though  he  should  hold  those  pleasures  in  contempt  which 
he  just  now  commended,  yet  I  must  remember  wherein 
he  places  the  chief  good.  For  he  was  not  contented  with 
barely  saying  this,  but  he  has  explained  Avhat  he  meant : 
he  says  that  taste,  and  embraces,  and  sports,  and  music, 
and  those  forms  which  affect  the  eyes  with  pleasure,  are 
the  chief  good.  Have  I  invented  this?  have  I  misrepre- 
sented him  ?  I  should  be  glad  to  be  confuted ;  for  what 
am  I  endeavoring  at  but  to  clear  up  truth  in  every  ques- 
tion? Well,  but  the  same  man  says  that  pleasure  is  at 
its  height  where  pain  ceases,  and  that  to  be  free  from  all 
pain  is  the  very  greatest  pleasure.  Here  are  three  very 
great  mistakes  in  a  very  few  words.  One  is,  that  he  con- 
tradicts himself;  for,  but  just  now,  he  could  not  imagine 
anything  good  unless  the  senses  were  in  a  manner  tickled 
with  some  pleasure;  but  now  he  says  that  to  be  free  from 
pain  is  the  highest  pleasure.  Can  any  one  contradict  him- 
self more?  The  next  mistake  is,  that  where  there  is  natu- 
rally a  threefold  division — the  first,  to  be  pleased  ;  next,  to 
be  in  pain ;  the  last,  to  be  affected  neither  by  pleasure  nor 
pain — he  imagines  the  first  and  the  last  to  be  the  same, 
and  makes  no  difference  between  pleasure  and  a  cessation 
of  pain.  The  last  mistake  he  falls  into  in  common  with 
some  others,  which  is  this:  that  as  virtue  is  the  most  de- 
sirable thing,  and  as  philosophy  has  been  investigated  with 
a  view  to  the  attainment  of  it,  he  has  separated  the  chief 
good  from  virtue.  But  he  commends  virtue,  and  that  fre- 
quently ;  and  indeed  C.  Gracchus,  when  he  had  made  the 


112  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

largest  distributions  of  the  public  money,  and  had  ex- 
hausted  the  treasury,  nevertheless  spoke  much  of  defend- 
ing the  treasury.  What  signifies  what  men  say  when  we 
see  what  tliey  do?  That  Piso,  who  was  surnamed  Frugal, 
had  always  harangued  against  the  law  that  was  proposed 
for  distributing  the  corn ;  but  when  it  had  passed,  though 
a  man  of  consular  dignity,  he  came  to  receive  the  corn. 
Gracchus  observed  Piso  standing  in  the  court,  and  asked 
him,  in  the  hearing  of  the  people,  how  it  was  consistent 
for  him  to  take  corn  by  a  law  he  had  himself  opposed. 
"It  was,"  said  he,  "against  your  distributing  my  goods 
to  every  man  as  you  thought  proper;  but,  as  you  do  so,  I 
claim  my  share."  Did  not  this  grave  and  wise  man  suffi- 
ciently show  that  the  public  revenue  was  dissipated  by  the 
Sempronian  law?  Read  Gracchus's  speeches,  and  you 
will  pronounce  him  the  advocate  of  the  treasury.  Epicu- 
rus denies  that  any  one  can  live  pleasantly  who  does  not 
lead  a  life  of  virtue ;  he  denies  that  fortune  has  any  power 
over  a  wise  man ;  he  prefers  a  spare  diet  to  great  plenty, 
and  maintains  tliat  a  wise  man  is  always  happy.  All  these 
things  become  a  philosopher  to  say,  but  they  are  not  con- 
sistent with  pleasure.  13ut  the  reply  is,  that  he  doth  not 
mean  that  pleasure :  let  him  mean  any  pleasure,  it  must  be 
such  a  one  as  makes  no  part  of  virtue.  But  suppose  we 
are  mistaken  as  to  his  pleasure ;  are  w^e  so,  too,  as  to  his 
pain  ?  I  maintain,  therefore,  the  impropriety  of  language 
which  that  man  uses,  when  talking  of  virtue,  who  would 
measure  every  great  evil  by  pain. 

XXI.  And  indeed  the  Epicureans,  those  best  of  men — 
for  there  is  no  order  of  men  more  innocent  —  complain 
that  I  take  great  pains  to  inveigh  against  Epicurus.  We 
are  rivals,  I  suppose,  for  some  honor  or  distinction.  I 
place  the  chief  good  in  the  mind, he  in  the  body;  I  in  vir- 
tue, he  in  pleasure ;  and  the  Epicureans  are  up  in  arms, 
and  implore  the  assistance  of  their  neighbors,  and  many 
are  ready  to  fly  to  their  aid.  But  as  for  my  part,  I  de- 
clare that  I  am  very  indifferent  about  the  matter,  and  that 
I  consider  the  Avhole  discussion  which  they  are  so  anxious 
about  at  an  end.  For  what !  is  the  contention  about  the 
Punic  war?  on  which  very  subject,  though  M.  Cato  and 
L.  Lentulus  were  of  dift'erent  opinions,  still  there  was  no 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  113 

difference  between  them.  But  these  men  behave  with  too 
much  heat,  especially  as  the  opinions  which  they  would 
uphold  are  no  very  spirited  ones,  and  such  as  they  dare 
not  plead  for  either  in  the  senate  or  before  the  assembly 
of  the  people,  or  before  the  army  or  the  censors.  But, 
however,  I  will  argue  with  them  another  time,  and  with 
such  a  disposition  that  no  quarrel  shall  arise  between  us ; 
for  I  shall  be  ready  to  yield  to  their  opinions  when  found- 
ed on  truth.  Only  I  must  give  them  this  advice :  That 
were  it  ever  so  true,  that  a  wise  man  regards  nothing  but 
the  body,  or,  to  express  myself  with  more  decency,  nev- 
er does  anything  except  what  is  expedient,  and  views  all 
things  with  exclusive  reference  to  his  own  advantage,  as 
such  things  are  not  very  commendable,  they  should  confine 
them  to  their  own  breasts,  and  leave  off  talking  with  that 
parade  of  them. 

XXII.  What  remains  is  the  opinion  of  the  Cyrenaics, 
who  think  that  men  grieve  when  anything  happens  unex- 
pectedly. And  that  is  indeed,  as  I  said  before,  a  great 
aggravation  of  a  misfortune ;  and  I  know  that  it  appeared 
so  to  Chrysippus — "  Whatever  falls  out  unexpected  is  so 
much  the  heavier."  But  the  whole  question  does  not  turn 
on  this;  though  the  sudden  approach  of  an  enemy  some- 
times occasions  more  confusion  than  it  would  if  you  had 
expected  him,  and  a  sudden  storm  at  sea  throws  the  sail- 
ors into  a  greater  fright  than  one  which  they  have  fore- 
seen ;  and  it  is  the  same  in  many  other  cases.  But  when 
you  carefully  consider  the  nature  of  what  was  expected, 
you  will  find  nothing  more  than  that  all  things  which 
come  on  a  sudden  appear  greater;  and  this  upon  two  ac- 
counts :  first  of  all,  because  you  have  not  time  to  consider 
how  great  the  accident  is ;  and,  secondly,  because  you  are 
probably  persuaded  that  you  could  have  guarded  against 
it  had  you  foreseen  it,  and  therefore  the  misfortune,  hav- 
ing been  seemingly  encountered  by  your  own  fault,  makes 
your  grief  the  greater.  That  it  is  so,  time  evinces ;  which, 
as  it  advances,  brings  with  it  so  much  mitigation  that 
though  the  same  misfortunes  continue,  the  grief  not  only 
becomes  the  less,  but  in  some  cases  is  entirely  removed. 
Many  Carthaginians  were  slaves  at  Rome,  and  many  Mace- 
donians, when  Perseus  their  king  was  taken  prisoner.    I  saw, 


114  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

too,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  some  Corinthians  in  the  Pelo- 
ponnesus.  They  might  all  have  lamented  with  Andromache, 


All  these  I 


but  they  hud  perhaps  given  over  lamenting  themselves, 
for  by  their  countenances,  and  speech,  and  other  gestures 
you  might  have  taken  them  for  Argives  or  Sicyonians. 
And  I  myself  was  more  concerned  at  the  ruined  walls 
of  Corinth  than  the  Corinthians  themselves  were,  whose 
minds  by  frequent  reflection  and  time  had  become  callous 
to  such  sights.  I  have  read  a  book  of  Clitomachus,  which 
he  sent  to  his  fellow-citizens  who  were  prisoners,  to  com- 
fort them  after  the  destruction  of  Carthage.  There  is  in  it 
a  treatise  written  by  Carneades,  which,  as  Clitomachus  says, 
he  had  inserted  into  his  book ;  the  subject  was,  "  That  it  ap- 
peared probable  that  a  wise  man  would  grieve  at  the  state 
of  subjection  of  his  country,"  and  all  the  arguments  which 
Carneades  used  against  this  proposition  are  set  down  in 
the  book.  There  the  philosopher  applies  such  a  strong 
medicine  to  a  fresh  grief  as  would  be  quite  unnecessary 
in  one  of  any  continuance ;  nor,  if  this  very  book  had  been 
sent  to  the  captives  some  years  after,  would  it  have  found 
any  Avounds  to  cure,  but  only  scars ;  for  grief,  by  a  gen- 
tle progress  and  slow  degrees,  wears  away  imperceptibly. 
Not  that  the  circumstances  which  gave  rise  to  it  are  alter- 
ed, or  can  be,  but  that  custom  teaches  what  reason  should 
— that  those  tilings  which  before  seemed  to  be  of  some  con- 
sequence are  of  no  such  groat  importance  after  all. 

XXIII.  It  may  be  said,  AVIiat  occasion  is  there  to  apply 
to  reason,  or  to  any  sort  of  consolation  such  as  we  gen- 
erally make  use  of,  to  mitigate  the  grief  of  the  afflicted  ? 
For  we  have  this  argument  always  at  hand,  that  nothing 
ought  to  appear  unexpected.  But  how  will  any  one  be 
enabled  to  bear  his  misfortunes  the  better  by  knowing 
that  it  is  unavoidable  that  such  things  sliould  happen 
to  man  ?  Saying  this  subtracts  nothing  from  the  sum  of 
the  grief :  it  only  asserts  that  nothing  has  fallen  out  but 
what  might  have  been  anticipated  ;  and  yet  this  manner 
of  speaking  has  some  little  consolation  in  it,  though  I  ap- 
prehend not  a  great  deal.  Therefore  those  unlooked-for 
things  have  not  so  much  force  as  to  give  rise  to  all  our 


ON   GRIEF  OF   MIND.  115 

grief;  tlie  blow  perhaps  may  fall  the  heavier,  but  whatever 
happens  does  not  appear  the  greater  on  that  account.  No, 
it  is  the  fact  of  its  having  happened  lately,  and  not  of  its 
having  befallen  us  unexpectedly,  that  makes  it  seem  the 
greater.  There  are  two  ways,  tlien,  of  discerning  the 
truth,  not  only  of  things  that  seem  evil,  but  of  those  that 
have  the  appearance  of  good.  For  we  either  inquire  into 
the  nature  of  the  thing,  of  what  description,  and  magni- 
tude, and  importance  it  is — as  sometimes  with  regard  to 
poverty,  the  burden  of  which  we  may  lighten  when  by  our 
disputations  we  show  how  few  things  nature  requires,  and 
of  wliat  a  trifling  kind  they  are — or,  without  any  subtle  ar- 
guing, we  refer  them  to  examples,  as  here  we  instance  a  Soc- 
rates, there  a  Diogenes,  and  then  again  that  line  in  Caecilius, 

Wisdom  is  oft  conceal'd  in  mean  attire. 

For  as  poverty  is  of  equal  weight  with  all,  what  reason 
can  be  given  why  what  Avas  borne  by  Fabricius  should  be 
spoken  of  by  any  one  else  as  unsupportable  when  it  falls 
upon  themselves  ?  Of  a  piece  with  this  is  that  other  way 
of  comforting,  which  consists  in  pointing  out  that  nothing 
has  happened  but  what  is  common  to  human  nature;  for 
this  argument  doth  not  only  inform  us  what  human  nature 
is,  but  implies  that  all  things  are  tolerable  which  others 
have  borne  and  are  bearing. 

XXIV.  Is  poverty  the  subject?  They  tell  you  of  many 
who  have  submitted  to  it  with  patience.  Is  it  the  con- 
tempt of  honors?  They  acquaint  you  with  some  who 
never  enjoyed  any,  and  were  the  happier  for  it;  and  of 
those  who  have  preferred  a  private  retired  life  to  public 
employment,  mentioning  their  names  with  respect;  they 
tell  you  of  the  verse^  of  that  most  powerful  king  who 
praises  an  old  man,  and  pronounces  him  happy  because  he 
was  unknown  to  fame  and  seemed  likely  to  arrive  at  the 
hour  of  death  in  obscurity  and  without  notice.  Thus, 
too,  they  have  examples  for  those  who  are  deprived  of 
their  children  :  they  who  are  under  any  great  grief  are 
comforted  by  instances  of  like  aflliction ;  and  thus  the  en- 

^  This  refers  to  the  speech  of  Agamemnon  in  Euripides,  in  the  Iphi- 
genia  in  Aulis, 

ZrjXfi  tre,  yepov, 
^t}\S>  V  uvSpSiv  or  uKivdvvov 
piov  efcTrepacr',  uyvw^,  uKXet'ji. — V.  15. 


116  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

durance  of  every  misfortune  is  rendered  more  easy  by  the 
fact  of  others  having  undergone  the  same,  and  the  fate  of 
others  causes  what  has  liappened  to  appear  less  important 
than  it  has  been  previously  thought,  and  reflection  thus 
discovers  to  us  how  much  opinion  had  imposed  on  us. 
And  this  is  what  the  Telamon  declares, "  I,  when  my  son 
was  born,"  etc.;  and  thus  Theseus,  "I  on  my  future  mis- 
ery did  dwell ;"  and  Anaxagoras,  "  I  knew  my  son  was 
mortal."  All  these  men,  by  frequently  reflecting  on  hu- 
man affairs,  had  discovered  that  they  were  by  no  means  to 
be  estimated  by  the  opinion  of  the  multitude ;  and,  indeed, 
it  seems  to  me  to  be  pretty  much  the  same  case  with  those 
who  consider  beforehand  as  with  those  who  derive  their 
remedies  from  time,  excepting  that  a  kind  of  reason  cures 
the  one,  and  the  other  remedy  is  provided  by  nature ;  by 
wbich  we  discover  (and  this  contains  the  whole  marrow 
of  the  matter)  that  what  was  imagined  to  be  the  greatest 
evil  is  by  no  means  so  great  as  to  defeat  the  happiness  of 
life.  And  the  effect  of  this  is,  that  the  blow  is  greater  by 
reason  of  its  not  liaving  been  foreseen,  and  not,  as  they 
suppose,  that  when  similar  misfortunes  befall  two  different 
people,  that  man  only  is  affected  with  grief  whom  this 
calamity  has  befallen  unexpectedly.  So  that  some  persons, 
under  the  oppression  of  grief,  are  said  to  have  borne  it 
actually  worse  for  hearing  of  this  common  condition  of 
man,  that  we  are  born  under  such  conditions  as  render  it 
impossible  for  a  man  to  be  exempt  from  all  evil. 

XXV.  For  this  reason  Carneades,  as  I  see  our  friend 
Antiochus  writes,  used  to  blame  Chrysippus  for  commend- 
ing these  verses  of  Euripides : 

Man,  doom'd  to  cave,  to  pain,  disease,  and  strife, 
Walks  liis  short  journey  thro'  tlie  A'ale  of  life  : 
Watchful  attends  the  cradle  and  the  grave, 
And  passing  generations  longs  to  save : 
Last,  dies  himself:  yet  wherefore  should  we  mourn? 
For  man  must  to  his  kindred  dust  return  ; 
Submit  to  the  destroying  hand  of  fate, 
As  ripen'd  ears  the  harvest-sickle  wait.* 

*  This  is  a  fragment  from  the  Ilypsipyle : 

E^u  fxiv  oiidelv  (';<7T(V  ou  irovei  /3f)OTWv' 
Otinrct  re  rtKva  X"Tep'  av  Krarat  veit, 
auTor  TC  OviiaKei.      Ka't  t(i5'  tix^oi/Tui  ftpOTOt 
elf  fTv  (jiepovrei  f^iv'  uvw^KaioiV  S'  t'x^* 
ftiov  Oepi^etv  iuaje  KiipiriiJiov  ajdxw. 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  117 

lie  would  not  allow  a  speech  of  this  kind  to  avail  at  all  to 
tlie  cure  of  our  grief,  for  he  said  it  was  a  lamentable  case 
itself  that  we  were  fallen  into  the  hands  of  such  a  cruel 
fate;  and  that  a  speech  like  that,  preaching  up  comfort 
from  the  misfortunes  of  another,  was  a  comfort  adapted 
only  to  those  of  a  malevolent  disposition.  But  to  me  it 
appears  far  otherwise ;  for  the  necessity  of  bearing  what 
is  the  common  condition  of  humanity  forbids  your  resist- 
ing the  will  of  the  Gods,  and  reminds  you  that  you  are  a 
man,  which  reflection  greatly  alleviates  grief;  and  the  enu- 
meration of  tliese  examples  is  not  produced  with  a  view  to 
please  those  of  a  malevolent  disposition,  but  in  order  that 
any  one  in  affliction  may  be  induced  to  bear  what  he  ob- 
serves many  others  have  previously  borne  with  tranquillity 
and  moderation.  For  they  who  are  falling  to  pieces,  and 
cannot  hold  together  through  the  greatness  of  their  grief, 
should  be  supported  by  all  kinds  of  assistance.  From 
whence  Chrysippus  thinks  that  grief  is  called  Xvttt],  as  it 
were  Xvaig,  that  is  to  say,  a  dissolution  of  the  whole  man 
— the  whole  of  which  I  think  may  be  pulled  np  by  the 
roots  by  explainiiyg,  as  I  said  at  the  beginning,  the  cause 
of  grief;  for  it  is  nothing  else  but  an  opinion  and  judg- 
ment formed  of  a  present  acute  evil.  And  thus  any  bodi- 
ly pain,  let  it  be  ever  ,50  grie\ous,  may  be  endurable  where 
any  hopes  are  proposed  of  some  considerable  good ;  and 
we  receive  such  consolation  from  a  virtuous  and  illustrious 
life  that  they  who  lead  such  lives  are  seldom  attacked  by 
grief,  or  but  slightly  affected  by  it, 

XXVI.  But  as  besides  this  opinion  of  great  evil  there  is 
this  other  added  also — that  we  ought  to  lament-what  has 
happened,  that  it  is  right  so  to  do,  and  part  of  our  duty, 
then  is  brought  about  that  terrible  disorder  of  mind,  grief. 
And  it  is  to  this  opinion  that  we  owe  all  those  various  and 
horrid  kinds  of  lamentation,  that  neglect  of  our  persons, 
that  womanish  tearing  of  our  cheeks,  that  striking  on  our 
thighs,  breasts,  and  heads.  Thus  Agamemnon,  in  Homer 
and  in  Accius, 

Tears  in  his  grief  his  uncomb'd  locks;' 

from  whence  comes  that  pleasant  saying  of  Bion,  that  the 

*  IloXXae  Ik  Ke(paXijg  TrpoOeXvfivovg  eX/cero  x^^T^i^- — H-  x.  15. 


118  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

foolish  king  in  liis  sorrow  tore  away  the  hairs  of  his 
head,  imagining  that  his  grief  would  be  alleviated  by  bald- 
ness. But  men  do  all  these  things  from  being  persuaded 
that  they  ought  to  do  so.  And  thus  ^schines  inveighs 
against  Demosthenes  for  sacriticing  within  seven  days  af- 
ter the  death  of  his  daughter.  But  with  what  eloquence, 
with  what  fluency,  does  he  attack  him  !  what  sentiments 
does  he  collect !  what  words  does  he  hurl  against  him ! 
You  may  see  by  this  that  an  orator  may  do  anything ;  but 
nobody  would  approve  of  such  license  if  it  were  not  that 
we  have  an  idea  innate  in  our  minds  that  every  good  man 
ought  to  lament  the  loss  of  a  relation  as  bitterly  as  possi- 
ble. And  it  is  owing  to  this  that  some  men,  when  in  sor- 
row, betake  themselves  to  deserts,  as  Homer  says  of  Bel- 
lerophon : 

Distracted  in  liis  mind, 
Forsook  by  heaven,  forsaking  human  kind, 
Wide  o'er  the  Alcian  field  he  chose  to  stray, 
A  long,  forlorn,  uncomfortable  way  !^ 

And  thus  Niobe  is  feigned  to  have  been  turned  into  stone, 
from  her  never  speaking,  I  suppose,  in  her  grief.  But 
they  imagine  Hecuba  to  have  been  converted  into  a  bitch, 
from  her  rage  and  bitterness  of  mind.  There  are  others 
who  love  to  converse  with  solitude  itself  when  in  grief,  as 
the  nurse  in  Ennius, 

Fain  would  I  to  the  heavens  and  earth  relate 
Medea's  ceaseless  woes  and  cruel  fate.^ 

XXVH.  Now  all  these  things  are  done  in  grief,  from  a 
persuasion  of  their  truth  and  propriety  and  necessity;  and 
it  is  plain  that  those  who  behave  thus  do  so  from  a  con- 
viction of  its  being  their  duty;  for  should  these  mourners 
by  chance  drop  their  grief,  and  either  act  or  speak  for  a 
moment  in  a  more  calm  or  cheei-ful  manner,  they  presently 
check  themselves  and  return  to  their  lamentations  again, 
and  blame  tliemselves  for  having  been  guilty  of  any  inter- 

*  "Htoi  o  KUTTTri^iov  TO  'AXtjiov  oloQ  okaTO 
ov  Ovjihv  KUTtdwr,  ttutov  dvOpwTnov  akuivojv. — II.  vi.  20!. 

'  This  is  a  translation  from  Euripides  : 

"ilaW  'ifAtpov  fi   virfiXOe  7p  re  k   ovpavM 

Xi^at  txoXovarf  dePpo  M»ide<a9  n'-xa?.— Med.  6T«     • 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  119 

missions  from  their  grief;  and  parents  and  masters  gen- 
erally correct  children  not  by  words  only,  but  by  blows, 
if  they  show  any  levity  by  either  word  or  deed  when  the 
family  is  under  affliction,  and,  as  it  were,  oblige  them  to 
be  sorrowful.  What !  does  it  not  appear,  when  you  have 
ceased  to  mourn,  and  have  discovered  that  your  grief  has 
been  ineffectual,  that  the  whole  of  that  mourning  was  vol- 
untary on  your  part?  What  does  that  man  say  in  Ter- 
ence who  punishes  himself,  the  Self-tormentor? 

I  think  I  do  my  son  less  harm,  O  Chiemes, 
As  long  as  I  myself  am  miserable. 

He  determines  to  be  miserable:  and  can  any  one  deter- 
mine on  anything  against  his  will? 

I  Avell  miglit  think  that  I  deserved  all  evil. 

He  would  think  he  deserved  any  misfortune  were  he  oth- 
erwise than  miserable  !  Therefore,  you  see,  the  evil  is  in 
opinion,  not  in  nature.  How  is  it  when  some  things  do  of 
themselves  prevent  your  grieving  at  them?  as  in  Homer, 
so  many  died  and  were  buried  daily  that  they  had  not 
leisure  to  grieve :  where  you  find  these  lines — 

The  great,  the  bold,  by  thousands  daily  fall, 
And  endless  were  the  grief  to  weep  for  all. 
Eternal  sorrows  what  avails  to  shed  ? 
Greece  honors  not  with  solenm  fasts  the  dead  : 
Enough  when  death  demands  the  brave  to  pay 
The  tribute  of  a  melancholy  day. 
One  chief  with  patience  to  the  grave  resign'd, 
Our  care  devolves  on  others  left  behind.^ 

Therefore  it  is  in  our  own  power  to  lay  aside  grief  upon 
occasion ;  and  is  there  any  opportunity  (seeing  the  thing 
is  in  our  ow^n  power)  that  we  should  let  slip  of  getting  rid 
of  care  and  grief?  It  was  plain  that  the  friends  of  Cnceus 
Pompeius,  when  they  saw  him  fainting  under  his  wounds, 
at  the  very  moment  of  that  most  miserable  and  bitter 
sight  were  under  great  uneasiness  how  they  themselves, 

'  Air}v  yap  iroWoi  Kai  t7r))Tptf.ioi  yftara  Travra 
TriTTTOixTii',  TTOTS  Kiv  TiQ  avaifi'tvatit  TToi'Oio  ; 
dXXa  xp))  Tov  fxiv  KaroQairTeniv,  oq  ks  Odvrjcri, 
VTjXia  Qvjiov  txovTac,  tir'  ri^iari  ^aKpvtravrac. — 

Horn.  11.  xix.  22G. 


120  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

surrounded  by  the  enemy  as  they  were,  should  escape,  and 
were  employed  in  nothing  but  encouraging  the  rowers  and 
aiding  their  escape;  but  when  they  reached  Tyre,  they 
began  to  grieve  and  lament  over  him.  Therefore,  as  fear 
with  them  prevailed  over  grief,  camiot  reason  and  true 
philosophy  have  the  same  effect  with  a  wise  man  ? 

XXVIII.  But  what  is  there  more  effectual  to  dispel 
grief  than  the  discovery  that  it  answers  no  purpose,  and 
has  been  undergone  to  no  account?  Therefore,  if  we  can 
get  rid  of  it,  we  need  never  have  been  subject  to  it.  It 
must  be  acknowledged,  then,  that  men  take  up  grief  wil- 
fully and  knowingly ;  and  this  appears  from  the  patience 
of  those  who,  after  they  have  been  exercised  in  afflictions 
and  are  better  able  to  bear  whatever  befalls  them,  suppose 
themselves  hardened  against  fortune;  as  that  person  in 
Euripides, 

Had  this  the  first  essay  of  fortune  been, 
And  I  no  storms  tliro'  all  my  life  had  seen, 
Wild  as  a  colt  I'd  broke  from  reason's  sway ; 
But  frequent  griefs  have  taught  me  to  obey.^ 

As,  then,  the  frequent  bearing  of  misery  makes  grief  the 
lighter,  we  must  necessarily  perceive  that  the  cause  and 
original  of  it  does  not  lie  in  the  calamity  itself.  Your 
principal  philosophers,  or  lovers  of  wisdom,  though  they 
have  not  yet  arrived  at  perfect  wisdom,  are  not  they  sen- 
sible that  they  are  in  the  greatest  evil?  For  they  are  fool- 
ish, and  foolishness  is  the  greatest  of  all  evils,  and  yet  they 
lament  not.  How  shall  we  account  for  this?  Because 
opinion  is  not  fixed  upon  that  kind  of  evil,  it  is  not  our 
opinion  that  it  is  right,  meet,  and  our  duty  to  be  uneasy 
because  we  arc  not  all  wise  men.  Whereas  this  opinion 
is  strongly  affixed  to  that  uneasiness  where  mourning  is 
concerned,  which  is  the  greatest  of  all  grief.  Therefore 
Aristotle,  when  he  blnmes  some  ancient  philosophers  for 
imagining  that  by  their  genius  they  had  brought  philoso- 

^  This  is  one  of  the  fragments  of  Euripides  which  we  are  unable  to 
assign  to  any  play  in  particular ;  it  occurs  Var.  Ed.  Tr.  Inc.  107. 

El  juei/  To5'  ii/iup  npwTov  tjv  KaKovn^vw 
,  Kai  fii)  ixaKpnv  h)j  6ia  ttoccoi/  IvavaroXovv 

'nu>\ov,X'''^^vov  upTiu)?  dcdtyfitvov' 

vvv  d'  u/i/j'Ai'/s  cI/X(,KaJ  KuT^pTUKu/r  KaKwv. 


ON   GRIEF  OF  MIND.  121 

phy  to  the  highest  perfection,  says,  they  must  be  either 
extremely  foolish  or  extremely  vain ;  but  that  he  himself 
could  see  that  great  improvements  had  been  made  therein 
in  a  few  years,  and  that  philosophy  would  in  a  little  time 
arrive  at  perfection.  And  Theophrastus  is  reported  to 
have  reproached  nature  at  his  death  for  giving  to  stags 
and  crows  so  long  a  life,  which  was  of  no  use  to  them, 
but  allowing  only  so  short  a  span  to  men,  to  whom  length 
of  days  would  have  been  of  the  greatest  use;  for  if  the 
life  of  man  could  have  been  lengthened,  it  would  have  been 
able  to  provide  itself  with  all  kinds  of  learning,  and  with 
arts  in  the  greatest  perfection.  He  lamented,  therefore, 
that  he  was  dying  just  when  he  had  begun  to  discover 
these.  What!  does  not  every  grave  and  distinguished 
philosopher  acknowledge  himself  ignorant  of  many  things, 
and  confess  that  there  are  many  things  which  he  must 
learn  over  and  over  again?  And  yet,  though  these  men 
are  sensible  that  they  are  standing  still  in  the  very  mid- 
way of  folly,  than  which  nothing  can  be  worse,  they  are 
under  no  great  affliction,  because  no  opinion  that  it  is  their 
duty  to  lament  is  ever  mingled  with  this  knowledge. 
What  shall  we  say  of  those  who  think  it  unbecoming  in  a 
man  to  grieve  ?  among  whom  we  may  reckon  Q.  Maximus, 
Avhen  he  buried  his  son  that  had  been  consul,  and  L.  Pau- 
lus,  who  lost  two  sons  within  a  few  days  of  one  another. 
Of  the  same  opinion  was  M.  Cato,  who  lost  his  son  just 
after  he  had  been  elected  praetor,  and  many  others,  whose 
names  I  have  collected  in  my  book  on  Consolation.  Now 
what  made  these  men  so  easy,  but  their  persuasion  that 
grief  and  lamentation  was  not  becoming  in  a  man  ?  There- 
fore, as  some  give  themselves  up  to  grief  from  an  opinion 
that  it  is  right  so  to  do,  they  refrained  themselves,  from 
an  opinion  that  it  was  discreditable ;  from  which  we  may 
infer  that  grief  is  owing  more  to  opinion  than  nature. 

XXIX.  It  may  be  said,  on  the  other  side.  Who  is  so 
mad  as  to  grieve  of  his  own  accord  ?  Pain  proceeds  from 
nature,  which  you  must  submit  to,  say  they,  agreeably  to 
what  even  your  own  Grantor  teaches,  for  it  presses  and 
gains  upon  you  unavoidably,  and  cannot  possibly  be  re- 
sisted. So  that  the  very  same  Oileus,  in  Sophocles,  who 
had  before  comforted  Telamon  on  the  death  of  Ajax,  on 

6 


122  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

hearing  of  the  death  of  his  own  son,  is  broken-hearted 
On  this  alteration  of  his  mind  we  have  these  lines : 

Show  me  the  man  so  well  by  wisdom  taught 
That  what  he  charges  to  another's  fault, 
When  like  affliction  doth  himself  betide, 
True  to  his  own  wise  counsel  will  abide.^ 

Now,  when  they  urge  these  things,  their  endeavor  is  to 
prove  that  nature  is  absolutely  and  wholly  irresistible; 
and  yet  the  same  people  allow  that  we  take  greater  grief 
on  ourselves  than  nature  requires.  What  madness  is  it, 
then,  in  us  to  require  the  same  from  others?  But  there 
are  many  reasons  for  our  taking  grief  on  us.  The  first  is 
from  the  opinion  of  some  evil,  on  the  discovery  and  cer- 
tainty of  which  grief  comes  of  course.  Besides,  many  peo- 
ple are  persuaded  that  they  are  doing  something  very  ac- 
ceptable to  the  dead  when  they  lament  bitterly  over  them. 
To  these  may  be  added  a  kind  of  womanish  superstition, 
in  imagining  that  when  they  have  been  stricken  by  the 
afflictions  sent  by  the  Gods,  to  acknowledge  themselves 
afflicted  and  humbled  by  them  is  the  readiest  way  of  ap- 
peasing them.  But  most  men  appear  to  be  unaware  what 
contradictions  these  things  are  full  of.  They  commend 
those  who  die  calmly,  but  they  blame  those  who  can  bear 
the  loss  of  another  with  the  same  calmness,  as  if  it  were 
possible  that  it  should  be  true,  as  is  occasionally  said  in 
love  speeches,  that  any  one  can  love  another  more  than 
himself.  There  is,  indeed,  something  excellent  in  this,  and, 
if  you  examine  it,  something  no  less  just  than  true,  that  we 
love  those  who  ought  to  be  most  dear  to  us  as  well  as  we 
love  ourselves;  but  to  love  them  more  than  ourselves  is 
absolutely  impossible;  nor  is  it  desirable  in  friendship  that 
I  should  love  my  friend  more  than  myself,  or  that  he  should 
love  me  so;  for  this  would  occasion  much  confusion  in 
life,  and  break  in  upon  all  the  duties  of  it. 

1  This  is  only  a  fragment,  preserved  by  Stobacus : 

Toi'9  ^'  av  jj.eyio'Tov':  Kal  cro(f)U)TUTOVi  (()pevl 
Toiouad'  'iSoU'  av,  otoy  ea-rt  vvv  i>de, 
KaXSiv  KaKuif  Trf)U(T(Tovrt  crvfL-nnpaivktrat' 
brav  6e  balyaav  av?)p6<;  evTv\ow  to  irplv 
fxcioTTCf'  epeiffrj  tov  /3iov  iraKivTiJOTrov, 
Tu  iroWu  (jtpovdu  Kui  KuKuii-  etpt]fxi:va. 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  123 

XXX.  Bat  we  will  speak  of  this  anotliei*  time  :  at  pres- 
ent it  is  sufficient  not  to  attribute  our  misery  to  the  loss  of 
our  friends,  nor  to  love  them  more  than,  if  they  themselves 
could  be  sensible  of  our  conduct,  they  would  approve  of, 
or  at  least  not  more  than  we  do  ourselves.  Now  as  to 
what  they  say,  that  some  are  not  at  all  appeased  by  our 
consolations ;  and,  moreover,  as  to  what  they  add,  that 
the  comforters  themselves  acknowledge  they  are  miserable 
when  fortune  varies  the  attack  and  falls  on  them — in  both 
these  cases  the  solution  is  easy :  for  the  fault  here  is  not 
in  nature,  but  in  our  own  folly ;  and  much  ■  may  be  said 
against  folly.  But  men  who  do  not  admit  of  consolation 
seem  to  bespeak  misery  for  themselves  ;  and  they  who  can- 
not bear  their  misfortunes  with  that  temper  which  they 
recommend  to  others  are  not  more  faulty  in  this  particu- 
lar than  most  other  persons ;  for  we  see  that  covetous 
men  find  fault  with  others  who  are  covetous,  as  do  the 
vainglorious  with  those  who  appear  too  wholly  devoted 
to  the  pursuit  of  glory.  For  it  is  the  peculiar  character- 
istic of  folly  to  perceive  the  vices  of  others,  but  to  for- 
get its  own.  But  since  we  find  that  grief  is  removed 
by  length  of  time,  we  have  the  greatest  proof  that  the 
strength  of  it  depends  not  merely  on  time,  but  on  the  daily 
consideration  of  it.  For  if  the  cause  continues  the  same, 
and  the  man  be  the  same,  how  can  there  be  any  alteration 
in  the  grief,  if  there  is  no  change  in  what  occasioned  the 
grief,  nor  in  him  who  grieves  ?  Therefore  it  is  from  daily 
reflecting  that  there  is  no  real  evil  in  the  circumstance  for 
which  you  grieve,  and  not  from  the  length  of  time,  that 
you  procure  a  remedy  for  your  grief. 

XXXI.  Here  some  people  talk  of  moderate  grief;  but 
if  such  be  natural,  what  occasion  is  there  for  consolation  ? 
for  nature  herself  will  determine  the  measure  of  it :  but  if 
it  depends  on  and  is  caused  by  opinion,  the  whole  opinion 
should  be  destroyed.  I  think  that  it  has  been  sufficiently 
said,  that  grief  arises  from  an  opinion  of  some  present 
evil,  which  includes  this  belief,  that  it  is  incumbent  on  us 
to  grieve.  To  this  definition  Zeno  has  added,  very  justly, 
that  the  opinion  of  this  present  evil  should  be  recent.  Now 
this  word  recent  they  explain  thus :  those  are  not  the  only 
recent  things  which  happened  a  little  Avhile  ago ;  but  as 


124  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

long  as  there  sliall  be  any  force,  or  vigor,  or  freshness  in 
that  imagined  evil,  so  long  it  is  entitled  to  the  name  of  re- 
cent. Take  the  case  of  Artemisia,  the  wife  of  Mansolns, 
King  of  Caria,  who  made  that  noble  sepnlchre  at  lialicar- 
nassus ;  while  she  lived,  she  lived  in  grief,  and  died  of  it, 
being  worn  out  by  it,  for  that  opinion  was  always  recent 
with  her:  but  you  cannot  call  that  recent  which  has  al- 
ready begun  to  decay  through  time.  Now  the  duty  of  a 
comforter  is,  to  remove  grief  entirely,  to  quiet  it,  or  draw 
it  off  as  much  as  you  can,  or  else  to  keep  it  under,  and 
prevent  its  spreading  any  further,  and  to  divert  one's  at- 
tention to  other  matters.  There  are  some  who  think,  with 
Cleanthes,  that  the  only  duty  of  a  comforter  is  to  prove 
that  what  one  is  lamenting  is  by  no  means  an  evil.  Oth- 
ers, as  the  Peripatetics,  prefer  urging  tliat  the  evil  is  not 
great.  Others,  with  Epicurus,  seek  to  divert  your  atten- 
tion from  the  evil  to  good:  some  think  it  sufficient  to 
show  that  nothing  has  happened  but  what  you  had  reason 
to  expect ;  and  this  is  the  practice  of  the  Cyrenaics.  But 
Chrysippus  thinks  that  the  main  thing  in  comforting  is, 
to  remove  the  opinion  from  the  person  w^ho  is  grieving, 
that  to  grieve  is  his  bounden  duty.  There  are  others  who 
bring  together  all  these  various  kinds  of  consolations,  for 
people  are  differently  affected  ;  as  I  have  done  myself  in 
my  book  on  Consolation ;  for  as  my  own  mind  was  much 
disordered,  I  have  attempted  in  that  book  to  discover  ev- 
ery method  of  cure.  But  the  proper  season  is  as  much  to 
be  attended  to  in  the  cure  of  the  mind  as  of  the  body;  as 
Prometheus  in  ^schylus,  on  its  being  said  to  him, 

I  think,  Prometheus,  you  this  tenet  hold, 
That  all  men's  reason  should  their  rage  control  ? 
answers. 

Yes,  Avhen  one  reason  properly  applies  ; 
Ill-timed  advice  will  make  the  storm  but  rise.* 

XXXII.  But  the  principal  medicine  to  be  applied  in 
consolation  is,  to  maintain  either  that  it  is  no  evil  at  all, 

'    Qk.    OlJKOVV  TlpOfJ1]9iV  TOVTO  yiyVU)(TKllQ  OTI 

dpyfiQ  voaovarjQ  ilaiv  larpoi  \6yoi. 
Tip.  f('iv  TiQ  Iv  Katpq)  yt  fiaXOnrrrry  Kenp 

Kai  JJ.IJ  (TcppiyCovTa  Ov/wv  icfxvatvt)  f3i{t. — 

^sch.  Prom.  v.  378. 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  125 

or  a  very  inconsiderable  one :  the  next  best  to  that  is,  to 
speak  of  the  common  condition  of  life,  having  a  view,  if 
possible,  to  the  state  of  the  person  whom  you  comfort  par- 
ticularly. Tlie  third  is,  that  it  is  folly  to  wear  one's  self 
out  with  grief  which  can  avail  nothing.  For  the  comfort 
of  Cleanthes  is  suitable  only  for  a  wise  man,  who  is  in  no 
need  of  any  comfort  at  all ;  for  could  you  persuade  one  in 
grief  that  nothing  is  an  evil  but  what  is  base,  you  would 
not  only  cure  him  of  grief,  but  folly.  But  the  time  for 
such  precepts  is  not  well  chosen.  Besides,  Cleanthes  does 
not  seem  to  me  sufficiently  aware  that  affliction  may  very 
often  proceed  from  that  very  thing  which  he  himself  al- 
lows to  be  the  greatest  misfortune.  For  what  shall  we 
say?  When  Socrates  had  convinced  Alcibiades,  as  we 
are  told,  that  he  had  no  distinctive  qualifications  as  a  man 
different  from  other  people,  and  that,  in  fact,  there  was  no 
difference  between  him,  though  a  man  of  the  highest  rank, 
and  a  porter ;  and  when  Alcibiades  became  uneasy  at  this, 
and  entreated  Socrates,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  make  him 
a  man  of  virtue,  and  to  cure  him  of  that  mean  position ; 
what  shall  we  say  to  this,  Cleanthes?  Was  there  no  evil 
in  what  afflicted  Alcibiades  thus?  What  strange  things 
does  Lycon  say?  who,  making  light  of  grief,  says  that  it 
arises  from  trifles,  from  things  that  affect  our  fortune  or 
bodies,  not  from  the  evils  of  the  mind.  What,  then?  did 
not  the  grief  of  Alcibiades  proceed  from  the  defects  and 
evils  of  the  mind  ?  I  have  already  said  enough  of  Epicu- 
rus's  consolation. 

XXXIII.  Nor  is  that  consolation  much  to  be  relied  on, 
though  it  is  frequently  practised,  and  sometimes  has  some 
effect,  namely,  "  That  you  are  not  alone  in  this."  It  has 
its  effect,  as  I  said,  but  not  always,  nor  with  every  person, 
for  some  reject  it;  but  much  depends  on  the  application 
of  it ;  for  you  ought  rather  to  show,  not  how  men  in  gen- 
eral have  been  affected  with  such  evils,  but  how  men  of 
sense  have  borne  them.  As  to  Chrysippus's  method,  it  is 
certainly  founded  in  truth ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  apply  it  in 
time  of  distress.  It  is  a  work  of  no  small  difficulty  to 
persuade  a  person  in  affliction  that  he  grieves  merely  be- 
cause he  thinks  it  right  so  to  do.  Certainly,  then,  as  in 
pleadings  we  do  not  state  all  cases  alike  (if  I  may  adopt 


126  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

the  language  of  lawyers  for  a  moment),  but  adapt  what 
we  have  to  say  to  the  time,  to  the  nature  of  the  subject 
under  debate,  and  to  the  person ;  so,  too,  in  alleviating 
grief,  regard  should  be  had  to  what  kind  of  cure  the  party 
to  be  comforted  can  admit  of.  But,  somehow  or  other, 
we  have  rambled  from  what  you  originally  proposed.  For 
your  question  was  concerning  a  wise  man,  with  whom 
nothing  can  have  the  appearance  of  evil  that  is  not  dishon- 
orable; or  at  least,  anything  else  would  seem  so  small  an 
evil  that  by  his  wisdom  he  would  so  overmatch  it  as  to 
make  it  wholly  disappear ;  and  such  a  man  makes  no  addi- 
tion to  his  grief  through  opinion,  and  never  conceives  it 
right  to  torment  himself  above  measure,  nor  to  wear  him- 
self out  with  grief,  which  is  the  meanest  thing  imagina- 
ble. Reason,  however,  it  seems,  has  demonstrated  (though 
it  was  not  directly  our  object  at  the  moment  to  inquire 
whether  anything  can  be  called  an  evil  except  what  is 
base)  that  it  is  in  our  power  to  discern  that  all  the  evil 
which  there  is  in  affliction  has  nothing  natural  in  it,  but  is 
contracted  by  our  own  voluntary  judgment  of  it,  and  the 
error  of  opinion. 

XXXIV.  But  the  kind  of  affliction  of  which  I  have 
treated  is  that  which  is  the  greatest ;  in  order  that  when 
we  have  once  got  rid  of  that,  it  may  appear  a  business  of 
less  consequence  to  look  after  remedies  for  the  others.  For 
there  are  certain  things  which  are  usually  said  about  pov- 
erty ;  and  also  certain  statements  ordinarily  applied  to  re- 
tired and  undistinguished  life.  There  are  particular  trea- 
tises on  banishment,  on  the  ruin  of  one's  country,  on  sla- 
very, on  weakness,  on  blindness,  and  on  every  incident  that 
can  come  under  the  name  of  an  evil.  The  Greeks  divide 
these  into  different  treatises  and  distinct  books ;  but  they 
do  it  for  the  sake  of  employment:  not  but  that  all  such 
discussions  are  full  of  entertainment.  And  yet,  as  physi- 
cians, in  curing  the  whole  body,  attend  to  even  the  most 
insignificant  part  of  the  body  which  is  at  all  disordered, 
so  does  philosophy  act,  after  it  has  removed  grief  in  gen- 
eral ;  still,  if  any  other  deficiency  exists — should  poverty 
bite,  should  ignominy  sting,  should  banishment  bring  a 
dark  cloud  over  us,  or  should  any  of  those  things  which  I 
have  just  mentioned  appear,  there  is  for  each  its  appropri- 


ON  GRIEF  OF  MIND.  127 

ate  consolation,  which  you  shall  hear  whenever  you  please. 
But  we  must  have  recourse  again  to  the  same  original 
principle,  that  a  wise  man  is  free  from  all  sorrow,  because 
it  is  vain,  because  it  answers  no  purpose,  because  it  is  not 
founded  in  nature,  but  on  opinion  and  prejudice,  and  is 
engendered  by  a  kind  of  invitation  to  grieve,  when  once 
men  have  imagined  that  it  is  their  duty  to  do  so.  When, 
then,  we  have  subtracted  what  is  altogether  voluntary,  that 
mournful  uneasiness  will  be  removed ;  yet  some  little  anx- 
iety, some  slight  pricking,  will  still  remain.  They  may  in- 
deed call  this  natural,  provided  they  give  it  not  that  hor- 
rid, solemn,  melancholy  name  of  grief,  which  can  by  no 
means  consist  with  wisdom.  But  how  various  and  how 
bitter  are  the  roots  of  grief !  Whatever  they  are,  I  pro- 
pose, after  having  felled  the  trunk,  to  destroy  them  all; 
even  if  it  should  be  necessary,  by  allotting  a  separate  dis- 
sertation to  each,  for  I  have  leisure  enough  to  do  so,  what- 
ever time  it  may  take  up.  But  the  principle  of  every  un- 
easiness is  the  same,  though  they  may  appear  under  differ- 
ent names.  For  envy  is  an  uneasiness ;  so  are  emulation, 
detraction,  anguish,  sorrow,  sadness,  tribulation,  lamenta- 
tion, vexation,  grief,  trouble,  affliction,  and  despair.  The 
Stoics  define  all  these  different  feelings;  and  all  those 
words  which  I  have  mentioned  belong  to  different  things, 
and  do  not,  as  they  seem,  express  the  same  ideas ;  but  they* 
are  to  a  certain  extent  distinct,  as  I  shall  make  appear  per- 
haps in  another  place.  These  are  those  fibres  of  the  roots 
which,  as  I  said  at  first,  must  be  traced  back  and  cut  off 
and  destroyed,  so  that  not  one  shall  remain.  You  say  it 
is  a  great  and  difficult  undertaking:  who  denies  it?  But 
what  is  there  of  any  excellency  which  has  not  its  difficulty  ? 
Yet  philosophy  undertakes  to  effect  it,  provided  we  ad- 
mit its  superintendence.  But  enough  of  this.  The  other 
books,  whenever  you  please,  shall  be  ready  for  you  here 
or  anywhere  else. 


128  THE  l^SCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 


BOOK  IV. 

ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OP  THE  MIND. 

I.  I  HAVE  often  wondered,  Brutus,  on  many  occasions, 
at  tlie  ingenuity  and  virtues  of  our  countrymen ;  but 
nothing  has  surprised  me  more  than  their  development 
in  those  studies,  which,  though  they  came  somewhat  late 
to  us,  have  been  transported  into  this  city  from  Greece. 
For  the  system  of  auspices,  and  religious  ceremonies,  and 
courts  of  justice,  and  appeals  to  the  people,  the  senate, 
the  establishment  of  an  army  of  cavalry  and  infantry,  and 
the  whole  miUtary  discipline,  were  instituted  as  early  as 
the  foundation  of  the  city  by  royal  authority,  partly  too 
by  laws,  not  without  the  assistance  of  the  Gods.  Then 
with  Avhat  a  surprising  and  incredible  progress  did  our 
ancestors  advance  towards  all  kind  of  excellence,  when 
once  the  republic  was  freed  from  the  regal  power !  Not 
that  this  is  a  proper  occasion  to  treat  of  the  manners  and 
customs  of  our  ancestors,  or  of  the  discipline  and  consti- 
tution of  the  city ;  for  I  have  elsewhere,  particularly  in 
the  six  books  I  wrote  on  the  Republic,  given  a  sufficient- 
ly accurate  account  of  them.  But  while  I  am  on  this 
subject,  and  considering  the  study  of  philosophy,  I  meet 
with  many  reasons  to  imagine  that  those  studies  were 
brought  to  us  from  abroad,  and  not  merely  imported,  but 
preserved  and  improved;  for  they  had  Pythagoras,  a  man 
of  consummate  wisdom  and  nobleness  of  character,  in  a 
manner,  before  their  eyes,  who  was  in  Italy  at  the  time 
that  Lucius  Brutus,  the  illustrious  founder  of  your  nobil- 
ity, delivered  his  country  from  tyranny.  As  the  doctrine 
of  Pythagoras  spread  itself  on  all  sides,  it  seems  probable 
to  me  that  it  reached  this  city;  and  this  is  not  only  prob- 
able of  itself,  but  it  does  really  appear  to  have  been  the 
case  from  many  remains  of  it.  For  who  can  imagine 
that,  when  it  flourished  so  much  in  that  part  of  Italy 
which  was  called  Magna   GraBcia,  and   in   some   of  the 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      129 

largest  and  most  powerful  cities,  in  which,  first  the  name 
of  Pythagoras,  and  then  that  of  those  men  who  wxre  af- 
terward his  followers,  was  in  so  high  esteem ;  who  can 
imagine,  I  say,  that  our  people  could  shut  their  ears  to 
what  was  said  by  such  learned  men  ?  Besides,  it  is  even 
ray  opinion  that  it  was  the  great  esteem  in  which  the  Py- 
thagoreans were  held,  that  gave  rise  to  that  opinion  among 
those  who  came  after  him,  that  King  Numa  was  a  Py- 
thagorean. For,  being  acquainted  with  the  doctrine  and 
principles  of  Pythagoras,  and  having  heard  from  their  an- 
cestors that  this  king  was  a  very  wise  and  just  man,  and 
not  being  able  to  distinguish  accurately  between  times 
and  periods  that  were  so  remote,  they  inferred,  from  his 
being  so  eminent  for  his  wisdom,  that  he  had  been  a  pu- 
pil of  Pythagoras. 

II.  So  far  ^ve  proceed  on  conjecture.  As  to  the  ves- 
tiges of  the  Pythagoreans,  though  I  might  collect  many, 
I  shall  use  but  a  few;  because  they  have  no  connection 
with  our  present  purpose.  For,  as  it  is  reported  to  have 
been  a  custom  with  them  to  deliver  certain  precepts  in  a 
more  abstruse  manner  in  verse,  and  to  bring  their  minds 
from  severe  tliought  to  a  more  composed  state  by  songs 
and  musical  instruments;  so  Cato,  a  writer  of  the  very 
highest  authority,  says  in  his  Origins,  that  it  was  custom- 
ary with  our  ancestors  for  the  guests  at  their  entertain- 
ments, every  one  in  his  turn,  to  celebrate  the  praises  and 
virtues  of  illustrious  men  in  song  to  the  sound  of  the 
flute ;  from  whence  it  is  clear  that  poems  and  songs  were 
then  composed  for  the  voice.  And,  indeed,  it  is  also  clear 
that  poetry  was  in  fashion  from  the  laws  of  the  Twelve 
Tables,  wherein  it  is  provided  that  no  song  should  be 
made  to  the  injury  of  another.  Another  argument  of  the 
erudition  of  those  times  is,  that  they  played  on  instru- 
ments before  the  shrines  of  their  Gods,  and  at  the  en- 
tertainments of  their  magistrates ;  but  that  custom  was  pe- 
culiar to  the  sect  I  am  speaking  of.  To  me,  indeed,  that 
poem  of  Appius  Caucus,  which  Pana3tius  commends  so 
much  in  a  certain  letter  of  his  which  is  addressed  to 
Quintus  Tubero,  has  all  the  marks  of  a  Pythagorean  au- 
thor. We  have  many  things  derived  from  the  Pythago- 
reans in  our  customs,  which  I  pass   over,  that  we   may 

6* 


130  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

not  seem  to  have  learned  that  elsewhere  which  we  look 
upon  ourselves  as  the  inventors  of.  But  to  return  to  our 
purpose.  How  many  great  poets  as  well  as  orators  have 
sprung  up  among  us !  and  in  what  a  short  time !  so  that 
it  is  evident  that  our  people  could  arrive  at  any  learning 
as  soon  as  they  had  an  inclination  for  it.  But  of  other 
studies  I  shall  speak  elsewhere  if  there  is  occasion,  as  I 
have  already  often  done. 

III.  The  study  of  philosophy  is  certainly  of  long  stand- 
ing with  us;  but  yet  I  do  not  find  that  I  can  give  you  the 
names  of  any  philosopher  before  the  age  of  Laelius  and 
Scipio,  in  whose  younger  days  we  find  that  Diogenes  the 
Stoic,  and  Carneades  the  Academic,  were  sent  as  ambas- 
sadors by  the  Athenians  to  our  senate.  And  as  these  had 
never  been  concerned  in  public  affairs,  and  one  of  them 
was  a  Cyrenean,  the  other  a  Babylonian,  they  certainly 
would  never  have  been  forced  from  their  studies,  nor 
chosen  for  that  employment,  unless  the  study  of  philoso- 
phy had  been  in  vogue  with  some  of  the  great  men  at  that 
time;  who, though  they  might  employ  their  pens  on  oth- 
er subjects — some  on  civil  law,  others  on  oratory,  others 
on  th8  history  of  former  times — yet  promoted  this  most 
extensive  of  all  arts,  the  principle  of  living  well,  even  more 
by  their  life  than  by  their  writings.  So  that  of  that  true 
and  elegant  philosophy  (which  was  derived  from  Soc- 
rates, and  is  still  preserved  by  the  Peripatetics  and  by 
the  Stoics,  though  they  express  themselves  differently  in 
their  disputes  with  the  Academics)  there  are  few  or  no 
Latin  records;  whether  this  proceeds  from  the  impor- 
tance of  the  thing  itself,  or  from  men's  being  otherwise  em- 
ployed, or  from  their  concluding  that  the  capacity  of  the 
people  was  not  equal  to  the  apprehension  of  them.  But, 
during  this  silence,  C.  Amafinius  arose  and  took  upon  him- 
self to  speak;  on  the  publishing  of  whose  writings  the 
people  were  moved,  and  enlisted  themselves  chiefly  under 
this  sect,  either  because  the  doctrine  was  more  easily 
understood,  or  because  they  were  invited  thereto  by  the 
])leasing  thoughts  of  an^usement,  or  that,  because  there 
was  nothing  better,  they  laid  hold  of  what  was  offered 
them.  And  after  Amafinius,  wdicn  many  of  the  same  sen- 
timents had  written  much  about  them,  the  Pythagoreans 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS   OF  THE  MIND.      131 

spread  over  all  Italy :  but  that  these  doctrines  should  be 
so  easily  understood  and  approved  of  by  the  unlearned  is 
a  great  proof  that  they  were  not  written  with  any  great 
subtlety,  and  they  think  their  establishment  to  be  owing 
to  this. 

IV.  But  let  every  one  defend  his  own  opinion,  for  every 
one  is  at  liberty  to  choose  what  he  likes :  I  shall  keep  to 
my  old  custom ;  and,  being  under  no  restraint  from  the 
laws  of  any  jjarticular  school,  which  in  philosophy  every 
one  must  necessarily  confine  himself  to,  I  shall  always  in- 
quire wliat  has  the  most  probability  in  every  question,  and 
this  system,  which  I  have  often  practised  on  other  occa- 
sions, I  have  adhered  closely  to  in  my  Tusculan  Disputa- 
tions. Therefore,  as  I  have  acquainted  you  with  the  dis- 
putations of  the  three  former  days,  this  book  shall  con- 
clude the  discussion  of  the  fourth  day.  When  we  had 
come  down  into  the  Academy,  as  we  had  done  the  former 
days,  the  business  was  carried  on  thus : 

M.  Let  any  one  say,  who  pleases,  what  he  would  wish 
to  have  discussed. 

A.  I  do  not  think  a  wise  man  can  possibly  be  free  from 
every  perturbation  of  mind. 

M.  He  seemed  by  yesterday's  discourse  to  be  free  from 
grief;  unless  you  agreed  with  us  only  to  avoid  taking  uptime. 

A.  Not  at  all  on  that  account,  for  I  was  extremely  satis- 
fied with  your  discourse. 

M.  You  do  not  think,  then,  that  a  wise  man  is  subject 
to  grief  ? 

A.  No,  by  no  means. 

3f.  But  if  that  cannot  disorder  the  mind  of  a  wise  man, 
nothing  else  can.  For  what — can  such  a  man  be  disturbed 
by  fear  ?  Fear  proceeds  from  the  same  things  when  ab- 
sent which  occasion  grief  when  present.  Take  away  grief, 
then,  and  you  remove  fear. 

The  two  remaining  perturbations  are,  a  joy  elate  above 
measure,  and  lust ;  and  if  a  wise  man  is  not  subject  to 
these,  his  mind  will  be  always  at  rest. 

A.  I  am  entirely  of  that  opinion. 

31.  Which,  then,  shall  we  do?  Shall  I  immediately 
crowd  all  my  sails?  or  shall  I  make  use  of  my  oars,  as  if 
I  were  just  endeavoring  to  get  clear  cf  the  harbor? 


132  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

A.  What  is  it  that  you  mean,  for  I  do  not  exactly  com- 
prehend you? 

V.  M.  Because,  Chiysippus  and  the  Stoics,  when  they 
discuss  the  perturbations  of  the  mind,  make  great  part 
of  their  debate  to  consist  in  definitions  and  distinctions; 
while  they  employ  but  few  words  on  the  subject  of  cur- 
ing the  mind,  and  preventing  it  from  being  disordered. 
Whereas  the  Peripatetics  bring  a  great  many  tilings  to 
promote  the  cure  of  it,  but  have  no  regard  to  their  thorny 
partitions  and  definitions.  My  question,  then,  w^as,  whether 
I  should  instantly  unfold  the  sails  of  my  eloquence,  or  be 
content  for  a  while  to  make  less  way  wdth  the  oars  of  logic? 

A.  Let  it  be  so ;  for  by  the  employment  of  both  these 
means  the  subject  of  our  inquiry  will  be  more  thoroughly 
discussed. 

31.  It  is  certainly  the  better  way  ;  and  should  anything 
be  too  obscure,  you  may  examine  that  afterward. 

A.  I  will  do  so ;  but  those  very  obscure  points  you  will, 
as  usual,  deliver  with  more  clearness  than  the  Greeks. 

M.  I  will,  indeed,  endeavor  to  do  so;  but  it  well  re- 
quires great  attention,  lest,  by  losing  one  word,  the  whole 
should  escape  you.  What  the  Greeks  call  Trddrj  we  choose 
to  name  perturbations  (or  disorders)  rather  than  diseases; 
in  explaining  which,  I  shall  follow,  first,  that  very  old  de- 
scription of  Pythagoras,  and  afterward  that  of  Plato;  for 
they  both  divide  the  mind  into  two  parts,  and  make  one 
of  these  partake  of  reason,  and  the  other  they  represent 
without  it.  In  that  which  partakes  of  reason  they  place 
tranquillity,  that  is  to  say,  a  placid  and  undisturbed  con- 
stancy; to  the  other  they  assign  the  turbid  motions  of  an- 
ger and  desire,  which  are  contrary  and  opposite  to  reason. 
Let  this,  then,  be  our  principle,  the  spring  of  all  our  rea- 
sonings. But  notwithstanding,  I  shall  use  the  partitions 
and  definitions  of  the  Stoics  in  describing  these  perturba- 
tions; who  seem  to  me  to  have  shown  very  great  acute- 
iiess  on  this  question. 

VL  Zeno's  definition,  then,  is  this:  "A  perturbation" 
(which  he  calls  a  ttuOoc)  "  is  a  commotion  of  the  mind  re- 
pugnant to  reason,  and  against  nature."  Some  of  them 
define  it  even  more  briefly,  saying  that  a  perturbation  is 
a  somewhat  too  vehement  appetite ;  but  by  too  vehement 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      133 

they  mean  an  appetite  that  recedes  further  from  the  con- 
stancy of  nature.  But  they  would  have  the  divisions  of 
perturbations  to  arise  from  two  imagined  goods,  and  from 
two  imagined  evils ;  and  thus  they  become  four :  from  the 
good  proceed  lust  and  joy — joy  having  reference  to  some 
present  good,  and  lust  to  some  future  one.  They  suppose 
fear  and  grief  to  proceed  from  evils :  fear  from  something 
future,  grief  from  something  present ;  for  whatever  things 
are  dreaded  as  approaching  always  occasion  grief  when 
present.  But  joy  and  lust  depend  on  the  opinion  of  good  ; 
as  lust,  being  inflamed  and  provoked,  is  carried  on  eager- 
ly towards  what  has  the  appearance  of  good ;  and  joy  is 
transported  and  exults  on  obtaining  what  was  desired:  for 
Ave  naturally  pursue  those  things  that  have  the  appearance 
of  good,  and  avoid  the  contrary.  Wherefore,  as  soon  as 
anything  that  has  the  appearance  of  good  presents  itself, 
nature  incites  ns  to  endeavor  to  obtain  it.  Now,  where 
this  strong  desire  is  consistent  and  founded  on  prudence, 
it  is  by  the  Stoics  called  povXrjtric,  and  the  name  which  we 
give  it  is  volition ;  and  tliis  they  allow  to  none  but  their 
wise  man,  and  define  it  thus :  Volition  is  a  reasonable  de- 
sire ;  but  whatever  is  incited  too  violently  in  opposition  to 
reason,  that  is  a  lust,  or  an  unbridled  desire,  which  is  dis- 
coverable in  all  fools.  And,  therefore,  when  we  are  affect- 
ed so  as  to  be  placed  in  any  good  condition,  we  are  moved 
in  two  ways ;  for  when  the  mind  is  moved  in  a  placid  and 
calm  motion,  consistent  with  reason,  that  is  called  joy ; 
but  when  it  exults  with  a  vain,  wanton  exultation,  or  im- 
moderate joy,  then  that  feeling  may  be  called  immoderate 
ecstasy  or  transport,  which  they  define  to  be  an  elation  of 
the  mind  without  reason.  And  as  we  naturally  desire  good 
things,  so  in  like  manner  we  naturally  seek  to  avoid  what 
is  evil ;  and  this  avoidance  of  which,  if  conducted  in  ac- 
cordance with  reason,  is  called  caution ;  and  this  the  wise 
man  alone  is  supposed  to  have :  but  that  caution  which  is 
not  under  the  guidance  of  reason,  but  is  attended  with  a 
base  and  low  dejection,  is  called  fear.  Fear  is,  therefore, 
caution  destitute  of  reason.  But  a  wise  man  is  not  affect- 
ed by  any  present  evil ;  while  the  grief  of  a  fool  proceeds 
from  being  affected  with  an  imaginary  evil,  by  which  his 
mind  is  contracted  and  sunk,  since  it  is  not  under  the  do- 


134  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

minion  of  reason.  This,  then,  is  the  first  definition,  which 
makes  grief  to  consist  in  a  shrinking  of  the  mind  contra- 
ry to  the  dictates  of  reason.  Thus,  there  are  four  pertur- 
bations, and  but  three  cahii  rational  emotions;  for  grief 
has  no  exact  opposite. 

VII.  But  they  insist  upon  it  that  all  perturbations  de- 
pend on  opinion  and  judgment;  therefore  they  define 
them  more  strictly,  in  order  not  only  the  better  to  show 
how  blamable  they  are,  but  to  discover  how  much  they 
are  in  our  power.  Grief,  then,  is  a  recent  opinion  of  some 
present  evil,  in  which  it  seems  to  be  right  that  the  mind 
should  shrink  and  be  dejected.  Joy  is  a  recent  opinion 
of  a  present  good,  in  which  it  seems  to  be  right  that  the 
mind  should  be  elated.  Fear  is  an  opinion  of  an  impend- 
ing evil  which  we  apprehend  will  be  intolerable.  Lust  is 
an  opinion  of  a  good  to  come,  which  would  be  of  advan- 
tage were  it  already  come,  and  present  with  us.  But  how- 
ever I  have  named  the  judgments  and  opinions  of  pertur- 
bations, their  meaning  is,  not  that  merely  the  perturbations 
consist  in  them,  but  that  the  effects  likewise  of  these  per- 
turbations do  so ;  as  grief  occasions  a  kind  of  painful 
pricking,  and  fear  engenders  a  recoil  or  sudden  abandon- 
ment of  the  mind,  joy  gives  rise  to  a  profuse  mirth, 
while  lust  is  the  parent  of  an  unbridled  habit  of  coveting. 
But  that  imagination,  which  I  have  included  in  all  the 
above  definitions,  they  would  have  to  consist  in  assenting 
without  warrantable  grounds.  Now,  every  perturbation 
has  many  subordinate  parts  annexed  to  it  of  the  same 
kind.  Grief  is  attended  with  enviousness  {invidentid) — I 
use  that  word  for  instruction's  sake,  though  it  is  not  so 
common;  because  envy  (invidia)  takes  in  not  only  the 
person  who  envies,  but  the  person,  too,  who  is  envied — em- 
ulation, detraction,  pity,  vexation,  mourning,  sadness,  trib- 
ulation, sorrow,  lamentation,  solicitude,  disquiet  of  mind, 
pain,  despair,  and  many  other  similar  feelings  are  so  too. 
Under  fear  are  comprehended  sloth,  shame,  terror,  coward- 
ice, fainting,  confusion,  astonishment.  In  pleasure  they 
comprehend  malevolence — that  is,  pleased  at  another's  mis- 
fortune— delight,  boastfulness,  and  the  like.  To  lust  they 
associate  anger,  fury,  hatred,  enmity,  discord,  wants,  desire, 
and  other  feeliuirs  of  that  kind. 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      135 

But  tliey  define  these  in  this  manner : 

VIII.  Enviousness  {iiividentia),  they  say,  is  a  grief  aris< 
ing  from  the  prosperous  circumstances  of  another,  which 
are  in  no  degree  injuiious  to  the  person  Avho  envies ;  for 
whei'e  any  one  grieves  at  the  prosperity  of  another,  by 
which  he  is  injured,  such  a  one  is  not  properly  said  to 
envy — as  when  Agamemnon  grieves  at  Hector's  success ; 
but  where  any  one,  who  is  in  no  way  hurt  by  the  prosper- 
ity of  another,  is  in  pain  at  his  success,  such  a  one  envies 
indeed.  Now  the  name  "  emulation  "  is  taken  in  a  double 
sense,  so  that  the  same  word  may  stand  for  praise  and 
dispraise:  for  the  imitation  of  virtue  is  called  emulation 
(however,  that  sense  of  it  I  shall  have  no  occasion  for 
here,  for  that  carries  praise  with  it) ;  but  emulation  is 
also  a  term  applied  to  grief  at  another's  enjoying  what  I 
desired  to  have,  and  am  without.  Detraction  (and  I  mer.u 
by  that,  jealousy)  is  a  grief  even  at  another's  enjoying 
what  I  had  a  great  inclination  for.  Pity  is  a  grief  at  the 
misery  of  another  who  suffers  wrongfully;  for  no  one  is 
moved  by  pity  at  the  punishment  of  a  parricide  or  of  a 
betrayer  of  his  country.  Vexation  is  a  pressing  grief. 
Mourning  is  a  grief  at  the  bitter  death  of  one  who  was 
dear  to  you.  Sadness  is  a  grief  attended  with  tears. 
Tribulation  is  a  painful  grief.  Sorrow,  an  excruciating 
grief.  Lamentation,  a  grief  where  we  loudly  bewail  our- 
selves. Solicitude,  a  pensive  grief.  Trouble,  a  continued 
grief.  Affliction,  a  grief  that  harasses  the  body.  De- 
spair, a  grief  that  excludes  all  hope  of  better  things  to 
come.  But  those  feelings  which  are  included  under  fear, 
they  define  thus :  There  is  sloth,  which  is  a  dread  of  some 
ensuing  labor ;  shame  and  terror,  which  affect  the  body — 
hence  blushing  attends  shame  ;  a  paleness,  and  tremor,  and 
chattering  of  the  teeth  attend  terror — cowardice,  which  is 
an  apprehension  of  some  approaching  evil ;  dread,  a  fear 
that  unhinges  the  mind,  whence  comes  that  line  of  En- 
nius, 

Then  dread  discluirged  all  wisdom  from  my  mind ; 

fainting  is  the  associate  and  constant  attendant  on  dread ; 
confusion,  a  fear  that  drives  away  all  thought;  alarm,  a 
continued  fear. 


136  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

IX.  Tiie  different  species  into  which  they  divide  pleas« 
ure  come  under  this  description ;  so  that  malevolence  is  a 
pleasm-e  in  the  misfortunes  of  another,  without  any  advan- 
tage to  yourself;  delight,  a  pleasure  that  soothes  the  mind 
by  agreeable  impressions  on  the  ear.  What  is  said  of  the 
ear  may  be  applied  to  the  sight,  to  the  touch,  smell,  and 
taste.  All  feelings  of  this  kind  fire  a  sort  of  melting  pleas- 
ure that  dissolves  the  mind.  Boastfulness  is  a  pleasure 
that  consists  in  making  an  appearance,  and  setting  off  your- 
self with  insolence. — The  subordinate  species  of  lust  they 
define  in  this  manner:  Anger  is  a  lust  of  punishing  anyone 
who,  as  we  imagine,  has  injured  us  without  cause.  Heat 
is  anger  just  forming  and  beginning  to  exist,  which  the 
Greeks  call  dufiojaiQ.  Hatred  is  a  settled  anger.  Enmity 
is  anger  w^aiting  for  an  opportunity  of  revenge.  Discord 
is  a  sharper  anger  conceived  deeply  in  the  mind  and  heart. 
Want  an  insatiable  lust.  Regret  is  when  one  eagerly 
wishes  to  see  a  person  who  is  absent.  Now  here  they 
have  a  distinction  ;  so  that  with  them  regret  is  a  lust  con- 
ceived on  hearing  of  certain  things  reported  of  some  one, 
or  of  many,  which  the  Greeks  call  KaTTjyoplj/iara,  or  predic- 
aments ;  as  that  they  are  in  possession  of  riches  and  hon- 
ors :  but  want  is  a  lust  for  those  very  honors  and  riches. 
But  these  deiiners  make  intemperance  the  fountain  of  all 
these  perturbations ;  which  is  an  absolute  revolt  from  the 
mind  and  right  reason  —  a  state  so  averse  to  all  rules  of 
reason  that  the  appetites  of  the  mind  can  by  no  means  be 
governed  and  restrained.  As,  therefore,  temperance  ap- 
peases these  desires,  making  them  obey  right  reason,  and 
maintains  the  well-weighed  judgments  of  the  mind,  so  in- 
temperance, which  is  in  opposition  to  this,  inflames,  con- 
founds, and  puts  every  state  of  the  mind  into  a  violent  mo- 
tion. Thus,  grief  and  fear,  and  every  other  perturbation 
of  the  mind,  liave  their  rise  from  intemperance. 

X.  Just  as  distempers  and  sickness  are  bred  in  the 
body  from  the  corruption  of  the  blood,  and  the  too  great 
abundance  of  phlegm  and  bile,  so  the  mind  is  deprived  of 
its  health,  and  disordered  with  sickness,  from  a  confusion 
of  depraved  opinions  that  are  in  opposition  to  one  another. 
From  these  perturbations  arise,  first,  diseases,  which  they 
call  voaiifiaTa',  and  also  those  feelings  which  are  in  opposi- 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      137 

tion  to  these  diseases,  and  which  admit  certain  faulty  dis- 
tastes or  loathings  ;  then  come  sicknesses,  which  are  called 
appioffrrjfiaTa  by  the  Stoics,  and  these  two  have  their  op- 
posite aversions.  Here  the  Stoics,  especially  Chrysippns, 
give  themselves  unnecessary  trouble  to  show  the  analogy 
which  the  diseases  of  the  mind  have  to  those  of  the  body : 
but,  overlooking  all  that  they  say  as  of  little  consequence, 
I  shall  treat  only  of  the  thing  itself.  Let  us,  then,  under- 
stand perturbation  to  imply  a  restlessness  from  the  varie- 
ty and  confusion  of  contradictory  opinions ;  and  that  when 
this  heat  and  disturbance  of  the  mind  is  of  any  standing, 
and  has  taken  up  its  residence,  as  it  were,  in  the  veins  and 
marrow,  then  commence  diseases  and  sickness,  and  those 
aversions  which  are  in  opposition  to  these  diseases  and 
sicknesses. 

XI.  What  I  say  here  may  be  distinguished  in  thought, 
though  they  are  in  fact  the  same;  inasmuch  as  they  both 
have  their  rise  from  lust  and  joy.  For  should  money  be 
the  object  of  our  desire,  and  should  we  not  instantly  apply 
to  reason,  as  if  it  w^ere  a  kind  of  Socratic  medicine  to  heal 
this  desire,  the  evil  glides  into  our  veins,  and  cleaves  to 
our  bowels,  and  from  thence  proceeds  a  distemper  or  sick- 
ness, which,  when  it  is  of  any  continuance,  is  incurable,  and 
the  name  of  this  disease  is  covetousness.  It  is  the  same 
with  other  diseases ;  as  the  desire  of  glory,  a  passion  for 
women,  to  which  the  Greeks  give  the  name  of  (j)i\oyvy£ia : 
and  thus  all  other  diseases  and  sicknesses  are  generated. 
But  those  feelings  which  are  the  contrary  of  these  are 
supposed  to  have  fear  for  their  foundation,  as  a  hatred  of 
women,  such  as  is  displayed  in  the  Woman-hater  of  Atil- 
ius;  or  the  hatred  of  the  whole  human  species,  as  Timon 
is  reported  to  have  done,  whom  they  call  the  Misanthrope. 
Of  the  same  kind  is  inhospitality.  And  all  these  diseases 
proceed  from  a  certain  dread  of  such  things  as  they  hate 
and  avoid.  But  they  define  sickness  of  mind  to  be  an 
overweening  opinion,  and  that  fixed  and  deeply  implanted 
in  the  heart,  of  something  as  very  desirable  which  is  by 
no  means  so.  What  proceeds  from  aversion,  they  define 
thus :  a  vehement  idea  of  something  to  be  avoided,  deep- 
ly implanted,  and  inherent  in  our  minds,  when  there  is  no 
reason  for  avoiding  it;  and  this  kind  of  opinion  is  a  de- 


138  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

liberate  belief  that  one  understands  things  of  which  one 
is  wholly  ignorant.  Now,  sickness  of  the  mind  has  all 
these  subordinate  divisions :  avarice,  ambition,  fondness 
for  women,  obstinacy,  gluttony,  drunkenness,  covetousness, 
and  other  similar  vices.  But  avarice  is  a  violent  opin- 
ion about  money,  as  if  it  were  vehemently  to  be  desired  and 
sought  after,  whicli  opinion  is  deeply  implanted  and  inher- 
ent in  our  minds ;  and  the  definition  of  all  the  other  simi- 
lar feelings  resembles  these.  But  the  definitions  of  aver- 
sions are  of  this  sort :  inhospitality  is  a  vehement  opinion, 
deeply  implanted  and  inherent  in  your  mind,  that  you 
should  avoid  a  stranger.  Thus,  too,  the  hatred  of  women, 
like  that  felt  by  Hippolytus,  is  defined ;  and  the  hatred  of 
the  human  species  like  that  displayed  by  Timon. 

XII.  But  to  come  to  the  analogy  of  the  state  of  body 
and  mind,  which  I  shall  sometimes  make  use  of,  though 
more  sparingly  than  the  Stoics.  Some  men  are  more  in- 
clined to  particular  disorders  than  others ;  and,  therefore, 
we  say  that  some  people  are  rheumatic,  others  dropsical, 
not  because  they  are  so  at  present,  but  because  they  are 
often  so :  some  are  inclined  to  fear,  others  to  some  other 
perturbation.  Thus  in  some  there  is  a  continual  anxiety, 
owing  to  which  they  are  anxious;  in  some  a  hastiness  of 
temper,  which  differs  from  anger,  as  anxiety  differs  from 
anguish  :  for  all  are  not  anxious  who  are  sometimes  vexed, 
nor  are  they  who  are  anxious  always  uneasy  in  that  man- 
ner: as  there  is  a  difference  between  being  drunk  and 
drunkenness ;  and  it  is  one  thing  to  be  a  lover,  another  to 
be  given  to  women.  And  this  disposition  of  particular 
people  to  particular  disorders  is  very  common :  for  it  re- 
lates to  all  perturbations ;  it  appears  in  many  vices,  though 
it  has  no  name.  Some  are,  therefore,  said  to  be  envious, 
malevolent,  spiteful,  fearful,  pitiful,  from  a  propensity  to 
those  perturbations,  not  from  their  being  always  carried 
away  by  them.  Now  this  propensity  to  these  particular 
disorders  may  be  called  a  sickness  from  analogy  with  the 
body;  meaning,  that  is  to  say,  nothing  more  than  a  pro- 
pensity towards  sickness.  But  with  i-egard  to  whatever 
is  good,  as  some  are  more  inclined  to  different  good  qual- 
ities than  others,  we  may  call  this  a  facility  or  tendency : 
this  tendency  to  evil  is  a  proclivity  or  inclination  to  falling ; 


ox  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      139 

but  where  anytliing  is  neither  good  nor  bad,  it  may  have 
tlie  former  name. 

XIII.  Even  as  there  may  be,  witli  respect  to  the  body, 
a  disease,  a  sickness,  and  a  defect,  so  it  is  with  tlie  mind. 
They  call  that  a  disease  where  the  whole  body  is  corrupt- 
ed ;  they  call  that  sickness  where  a  disease  is  attended 
with  a  weakness,  and  that  a  defect  wdiere  the  parts  of 
the  body  are  not  well  compacted  together;  from  whence 
it  follows  that  the  membei's  are  misshapen,  crooked,  and 
deformed.  So  that  these  two,  a  disease  and  sickness,  pro- 
ceed from  a  violent  concussion  and  perturbation  of  the 
health  of  the  whole  body;  but  a  defect  discovers  itself 
even  when  the  body  is  in  perfect  health.  But  a  disease 
of  the  mind  is  distinguishable  only  in  thought  from  a  sick- 
ness. But  a  viciousness  is  a  habit  or  affection  discordant 
and  inconsistent  with  itself  through  life.  Thus  it  happens 
that,  in  the  one  case,  a  disease  and  sickness  may  arise 
from  a  corruption  of  opinions ;  in  the  other  case,  the  con- 
sequence may  be  inconstancy  and  inconsistency.  For  ev- 
ery vice  of  the  mind  does  not  imply  a  disunion  of  parts; 
as  is  the  case  w^ith  those  who  are  not  far  from  being  wise 
men.  With  them  there  is  that  affection  which  is  incon- 
sistent with  itself  while  it  is  foolish ;  but  it  is  not  distort- 
ed, nor  depraved.  But  diseases  and  sicknesses  are  parts 
of  viciousness ;  but  it  is  a  question  whether  perturbations 
are  parts  of  the  same,  for  vices  are  permanent  affections : 
perturbations  are  such  as  are  restless ;  so  that  they  cannot 
be  parts  of  permanent  ones.  As  there  is  some  analogy 
between  the  nature  of  the  body  and  mind  in  evil,  so  is 
there  in  good ;  for  the  distinctions  of  the  body  are  beauty, 
strength,  health,  firmness,  quickness  of  motion :  the  same 
may  be  said  of  the  mind.  The  body  is  said  to  be  in  a 
good  state  when  all  those  things  on  which  health  depends 
are  consistent:  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  mind  when 
its  judgments  and  opinions  are  not  at  variance  with  one 
another.  And  this  union  is  the  virtue  of  the  mind,  which, 
according  to  some  people,  is  temperance  itself;  others 
make  it  consist  in  an  obedience  to  the  precepts  of  temper- 
ance, and  a  compliance  with  them,  not  allowing  it  to  be 
any  distinct  species  of  itself.  But,  be  it  one  or  the  other, 
it  is  to  be  found  only  in  a  wnse  man.     But  there  is  a  cer- 


140  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

tain  soundness  of  mind,  which  even  a  fool  may  have,  when 
the  perturbation  of  his  mind  is  removed  by  the  care  and 
management  of  his  physicians.  And  as  wliat  is  called 
beauty  arises  from  an  exact  proportion  of  the  limbs,  to- 
gether with  a  certain  sweetness  of  complexion,  so  the 
beauty  of  the  mind  consists  in  an  equality  and  constancy 
of  opinions  and  judgments,  joined  to  a  certain  firmness 
and  stability,  pursuing  virtue,  or  containing  within  itself 
the  very  essence  of  virtue.  Besides,  we  give  the  very 
same  names  to  the  faculties  of  the  mind  as  we  do  to  the 
powers  of  the  body,  the  nerves,  and  other  powers  of  action. 
Thus  the  velocity  of  the  body  is  called  swiftness :  a  praise 
which  we  ascribe  to  the  mind,  from  its  running  over  in  its 
thoughts  so  many  things  in  so  short  a  time. 

XIV.  Herein,  indeed,  the  mind  and  body  are  unlike: 
that  though  the  mind  when  in  perfect  health  may  be  visit- 
-ed  by  sickness,  as  the  body  may,  yet  the  body  may  be  dis- 
ordered without  our  fault;  the  mind  cannot.  For  all  the 
disorders  and  perturbations  of  the  mind  proceed  from  a 
neglect  of  reason ;  these  disorders,  therefore,  are  confined 
to  men:  the  beasts  are  not  subject  to  such  perturbations, 
though  they  act  sometimes  as  if  they  had  reason.  There 
is  a  difference,  too,  between  ingenious  and  dull  men ;  the 
ingenious,  like  the  Corinthian  brass,  which  is  long  before 
it  receives  rust,  are  longer  before  they  fall  into  these  per- 
turbations, and  are  recovered  sooner :  the  case  is  different 
with  the  dull.  Nor  does  the  mind  of  an  ingenious  man 
fall  into  every  kind  of  perturbation,  for  it  never  yields  to 
any  that  are  brutish  and  savage;  and  some  of  their  per- 
turbations have  at  first  even  the  appearance  of  humanity, 
as  mercy,  grief,  and  fear.  But  the  sicknesses  and  diseases 
of  the  mind  are  thought  to  be  harder  to  eradicate  than 
those  leading  vices  which  are  in  opposition  to  virtues ;  for 
vices  may  be  removed,  though  the  diseases  of  the  mind 
should  continue,  which  diseases  are  not  cured  with  that 
expedition  with  which  vices  are  removed.  I  have  now 
acquainted  you  with  the  arguments  which  the  Stoics  put 
forth  with  such  exactness  ;  which  they  call  logic,  from 
their  close  arguing :  and  since  my  discourse  has  got  clear 
of  these  rocks,  I  will  proceed  witli  the  remainder  of  it, 
provided  I  have  been  sufiiciently  clear  in  what  I  have  al- 


ON   OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.       141 

ready  said,  considering  the  obscurity  of  the  subject  I  have 
treated. 

A.  Clear  enough ;  but  should  there  be  occasion  for  a 
more  exact  inquiry,  I  shall  take  another  opportunity  of 
asking  you.  I  expect  you  now  to  hoist  your  sails,  as  you 
just  now  called  them,  and  proceed  on  your  course. 

XV.  M.  Since  I  have  spoken  before  of  virtue  in  other 
places,  and  shall  often  have  occasion  to  speak  again  (for  a 
great  many  questions  that  relate  to  life  and  manners  arise 
from  the  spring  of  virtue)  ;  and  since,  as  I  say,  virtue  con- 
sists in  a  settled  and  uniform  affection  of  mind,  making 
those  persons  praiseworthy  who  are  possessed  of  lier,  she 
herself  also,  independent  of  anything  else,  without  regard 
to  any  advantage,  must  be  praiseworthy ;  for  from  her 
proceed  good  inclinations,  opinions,  actions,  and  the  whole 
of  right  reason;  though  virtue  may  be  defined  in  a  few 
words  to  be  right  reason  itself.  The  opposite  to  this  is 
viciousness  (for  so  I  choose  to  translate  what  the  Greeks 
call  Kada,  rather  than  by  perverseness ;  for  perverseuess  is 
the  name  of  a  particular  vice;  but  viciousness  includes 
all),  from  whence  arise  those  perturbations  which,  as  I 
just  now  said,  are  turl)id  and  violent  motions  of  the  mind, 
repugnant  to  reason,  and  enemies  in  a  high  degree  to  the 
peace  of  the  mind  and  a  tranquil  life,  for  they  introduce 
piercing  and  anxious  cares,  and  afflict  and  debilitate  the 
mind  through  fear ;  they  violently  inflame  our  hearts  with 
exaggerated  appetite,  which  is  in  reality  an  impotence  of 
mind,  utterly  irreconcilable  with  temperance  and  moder- 
ation, which  we  sometimes  call  desire,  and  sometimes  lust, 
and  which,  should  it  even  attain  the  object  of  its  wishes, 
immediately  becomes  so  elated  that  it  loses  all  its  resolu- 
tion, and  knows  not  what  to  pursue  ;  so  that  he  was  in  the 
right  who  said  "that  exaggerated  pleasure  was  the  very 
greatest  of  mistakes."  Virtue,  then,  alone  can  effect  the 
cure  of  these  evils.    • 

XVI.  For  what  is  not  only  more  miserable,  but  more 
base  and  sordid,  than  a  man  afflicted,  weakened,  and  op- 
pressed with  grief?  And  little  short  of  this  misery  is  one 
who  dreads  some  approaching  evil,  and  who,  through 
faintheartedness,  is  under  continual  suspense.  The  poets, 
to  express  the  greatness  of  this  evil,  imagine  a  stone  to 


142  THE   TUSCULAN   DISPUTATIONS. 

hang  over  the  head  of  Tantalus,  as  a  punishment  for  his  / 
wickedness,  his  pride,  and  his  boasting.  And  this  is  the 
common  punishment  of  folly ;  for  there  hangs  over  the 
head  of  every  one  whose  mind  revolts  from  reason  some 
similar  fear.  And  as  these  perturbations  of  the  mind, 
grief  and  fear,  are  of  a  most  wasting  nature,  so  those  two 
others,  though  of  a  more  meriy  cast  (I  mean  lust,  which 
is  always  coveting  something  with  eagerness,  and  empty 
mirth,  which  is  an  exulting  joy),  differ  very  little  from 
madness.  Hence  you  may  understand  what  sort  of  person 
he  is  whom  we  call  at  one  time  moderate,  at  another  mod- 
est or  temperate,  at  another  constant  and  virtuous ;  while 
sometimes  we  include  all  these  names  in  the  word  frugal- 
ity, as  the  crown  of  all;  for  if  that  word  did  not  include 
all  virtues,  it  would  never  have  been  proverbial  to  say  that 
a  frugal  m.iii  does  everything  rightly.  But  when  the  Stoics 
apply  this  saying  to  their  wise  man,  they  seem  to  exalt  him 
too  much,  and  to  speak  of  him  with  too  much  admiration. 
XVII.  Whoever,  then,  through  moderation  and  constan- 
cy, is  at  rest  in  his  mind,  and  in  calm  possession  of  him- 
self, so  as  neither  to  pine  witii  care,  nor  be  dejected  with 
fear,  nor  to  be  inflamed  with  desire,  coveting  something 
greedily,  nor  relaxed  by  extravagant  mirth — such  a  man 
is  that  identical  wise  man  whom  we  are  inquiring  for :  he 
is  the  happy  man,  to  whom  nothing  in  this  life  seems  in- 
tolerable enough  to  depress  him  ;  nothing  exquisite  enough 
to  transport  him  unduly.  For  what  is  there  in  this  life 
that  can  ai)pear  great  to  him  who  has  acquainted  himself 
with  eternity  and  the  utmost  extent  of  the  universe?  Foi' 
what  is  there  in  human  knowledge,  or  the  short  span  of 
this  life,  that  can  appear  great  to  a  wise  man  ?  whose  mind 
is  always  so  upon  its  guard  that  nothing  can  befall  him 
which  is  unforeseen,  nothing  which  is  unexpected,  noth- 
ing, in  short,  which  is  new.  Such  a  man  takes  so  exact  a 
survey  on  all  sides  of  him,  that  he  always  knows  the  prop- 
er place  and  spot  to  live  in  free  from  all  the  troubles  and 
annoyances  of  life,  and  encounters  every  accident  that  fort- 
une can  bring  upon  him  with  a  becoming  calmness.  Who- 
ever conducts  himself  in  tliis  manner  will  be  free  from 
grief,  and  from  every  other  perturbation ;  and  a  mind  free 
from  these  feelings  renders  men  completely  happy ;  where- 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS   OF  THE  MIND.      143 

as  a  mind  disordered  and  drawn  off  from  right  and  un- 
erring reason  loses  at  once,  not  only  its  resolution,  but  its 
liealth. — Therefore  the  thoughts  and  declarations  of  the 
Peripatetics  are  soft  and  effeminate,  for  they  say  that  the 
mind  must  necessarily  be  agitated,  but  at  the  same  time 
they  lay  down  certain  bounds  beyond  which  tliat  agitation 
is  not  to  proceed.  And  do  you  set  bounds  to  vice  ?  or  is 
it  no  vice  to  disobey  reason?  Does  not  reason  sufficient- 
ly declare  that  there  is  no  real  good  which  you  should  de- 
sire too  ardently,  or  the  possession  of  which  you  should  al- 
low to  transport  you  ?  and  that  there  is  no  evil  that  should 
be  able  to  overwhelm  you,  or  the  suspicion  of  which  should 
distract  you  ?  and  that  all  these  things  assume  too  melan- 
choly or  too  cheerful  an  appearance  through  our  own  er- 
ror? But  if  fools  find  tliis  error  lessened  by  time,  so  that, 
though  the  cause  remains  the  same,  they  are  not  affected 
in  the  same  manner,  after  some  time,  as  they  were  at  first, 
why,  surely  a  wise  man  ought  not  to  be  influenced  at  all 
by  it.  But  what  are  those  degrees  by  wliich  we  are  to 
limit  it?  Let  us  fix  these  degrees  in  grief,  a  difficult  sub- 
ject, and  one  much  canvassed.  —  Fannius  writes  that  P. 
Rutilius  took  it  much  to  heart  that  his  brother  was  refused 
the  consulship;  but  he  seems  to  have  been  too  much  af- 
fected by  this  disappointment,  for  it  was  the  occasion  of 
his  death  :  he  ought,  therefore,  to  have  borne  it  with  more 
moderation.  But  let  us  suppose  that  wliile  he  was  bear- 
ing this  with  moderation,  tlie  death  of  his  children  had  in-' 
tervened  ;  here  would  have  started  a  fresh  grief,  whicli,  ad- 
mitting it  to  be  moderate  in  itself,  yet  still  must  have  been 
a  great  addition  to  the  other.  Now,  to  these  let  us  add 
some  acute  pains  of  body,  the  loss  of  his  fortune,  blindness, 
banishment.  Supposing,  then,  each  separate  misfortune  to 
occasion  a  separate  additional  grief,  the  whole  would  be 
too  great  to  be  supportable. 

XVIII.  The  man  who  attempts  to  set  bounds  to  vice 
acts  like  one  who  should  throw  himself  headlong  from 
Leucate,  persuaded  that  he  could  stop  himself  whenever 
he  pleased.  Now,  as  that  is  impossible,  so  a  perturbed 
and  disordered  mind  cannot  restrain  itself,  and  stop  where 
it  pleases.  Certainly  whatever  is  bad  in  its  increase  is 
bad  in  its  birth.     Now  grief  and  all  other  perturbations 


144  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

are  doubtless  baneful  in  their  progress,  and  have,  there- 
fore, no  small  share  of  evil  at  the  beginning ;  for  they  go 
on  of  themselves  when  once  tliey  depart  from  reason,  for 
every  weakness  is  self-indulgent,  and  indiscreetly  launches 
out,  and  does  not  know  where  to  stop.  So  that  it  makes 
no  difference  whether  you  approve  of  moderate  perturba- 
tions of  mind,  or  of  moderate  injustice,  moderate  coward- 
ice, and  moderate  intemperance;  for  whoever  prescribes 
bounds  to  vice  admits  a  part  of  it,  which,  as  it  is  odious 
of  itself,  becomes  the  more  so  as  it  stands  on  slippery 
ground,  and,  being  once  set  forward,  glides  on  headlong, 
and  cannot  by  any  means  be  stopped. 

XIX.  Why  should  I  say  more?  Why  should  I  add 
that  the  Peripatetics  say  that  these  perturbations,  which 
we  insist  upon  it  should  be  extirpated,  are  not  only  natu- 
ral, but  were  given  to  men  by  nature  for  a  good  purpose? 
They  usually  talk  in  this  manner.  In  the  first  place,  they 
say  much  in  praise  of  anger;  they  call  it  the  whetstone 
of  courage,  and  they  say  that  angry  men  exert  themselves 
most  against  an  enemy  or  against  a  bad  citizen:  that  those 
reasons  are  of  little  weight  which  are  the  motives  of  men 
who  think  thus,  as — it  is  a  just  war;  it  becomes  us  to  iight 
for  our  laws,  our  liberties,  our  country  :  they  will  allow  no 
force  to  these  arguments  unless  our  courage  is  warmed  by 
anger. — Nor  do  they  confine  their  argument  to  warriors; 
but  their  opinion  is  that  no  one  can  issue  any  rigid  com- 
mands without  some  bitterness  and  anger.  In  short,  they 
have  no  notion  of  an  orator  either  accusing  or  even  de- 
fending a  client  without  he  is  spurred  on  by  anger.  And 
though  this  anger  should  not  be  real,  still  they  think  his 
words  and  gestures  ought  to  wear  the  appearance  of  it,  so 
that  the  action  of  the  orator  may  excite  the  anger  of  his 
hearer.  And  they  deny  that  any  man  has  ever  been  seen 
who  does  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  angry ;  and  they  name 
what  we  call  lenity  by  the  bad  appellation  of  indolence. 
Nor  do  they  commend  only  this  lust  (for  anger  is,  as  I  de- 
fined it  above,  the  lust  of  revenge),  but  they  maintain  that 
kind  of  lust  or  desire  to  be  given  us  by  nature  for  very 
good  purposes,  saying  that  no  one  can  execute  anything 
well  but  what  he  is  in  earnest  about.  Themistocles  used 
to  walk  in  the  public  places  in  the  night  because  he  could 


ON   OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF   THE  MIND.      145 

not  sleep ;  and  when  asked  the  reason,  his  answer  was,  that 
Miltiades's  trophies  kept  him  awake.  Who  has  not  heard 
how  Demosthenes  used  to  watch,  who  said  that  it  gave 
him  pain  if  any  mechanic  was  up  in  a  morning  at  his 
work  before  him?  Lastly,  they  urge  that  some  of  the 
greatest  philosophers  would  never  have  made  that  prog- 
ress in  their  studies  without  some  ardent  desire  spurring 
them  on. — We  are  informed  that  Pythagoras,  Democritus, 
and  Plato  visited  the  remotest  parts  of  the  world;  for 
they  thought  that  they  ought  to  go  wherever  anything 
was  to  be  learned.  Now,  it  is  not  conceivable  that  these 
things  could  be  effected  by  anything  but  by  the  greatest 
ardor  of  mind. 

XX.  They  say  that  even  grief,  which  we  have  already 
said  ought  to  be  avoided  as  a  monstrous  and  fierce  beast, 
was  appointed  by  nature,  not  without  some  good  purpose, 
in  order  that  men  should  lament  when  they  had  committed 
a  fault,  well  knowing  they  had  exposed  themselves  to  cor- 
rection, rebuke,  and  ignominy ;  for  they  think  that  those 
who  can  bear  ignominy  and  infamy  without  pain  have  ac- 
quired a  complete  impunity  for  all  sorts  of  crimes;  for 
with  them  reproach  is  a  stronger  check  than  conscience. 
From  whence  we  have  that  scene  in  Afranius  borrowed 
from  common  life;  for  when  the  abandoned  son  saith, 
"  Wretched  that  I  am  !"  the  severe  father  replies, 

Let  liim  but  grieve,  no  matter  what  the  cause. 

And  they  say  the  other  divisions  of  sorrow  have  their  use; 
that  pity  incites  us  to  hasten  to  the  assistance  of  otherp, 
and  to  alleviate  the  calamities  of  men  who  have  unde- 
servedly fallen  into  them;  that  even  envy  and  detraction 
are  not  without  their  use,  as  when  a  man  sees  that  another 
person  has  attained  what  he  cannot,  or  observes  another 
to  be  equally  successful  with  himself;  that  he  who  should 
take  away  fear  w^ould  take  away  all  industry  in  life,  which 
those  men  exert  in  the  greatest  degree  who  are  afraid  of 
the  laws  and  of  the  magistrates,  who  dread  poverty,  igno- 
miny, death,  and  pain.  But  while  they  argue  thus,  they 
allow  indeed  of  these  feelings  being  retrenched,  though 
they  deny  that  they  either  can  or  should  be  plncked  up 
by  the  roots;  so  that  their  opinion  is  that  mediocrity  is 

7 


146  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

best  in  everything.  When  they  reason  in  this  manner,  what 
think  you — is  what  they  say  worth  attending  to  or  not? 

A.  I  think  it  is.  I  wait,  therefore,  to  hear  what  you 
will  say  in  reply  to  them. 

XXI.  M.  Perhaps  I  may  find  something  to  say;  but  I 
will  make  this  observation  first:  do  you  take  notice  with 
what  modesty  the  Academics  behave  themselves  ?  for  they 
speak  plainly  to  the  purpose.  The  Peripatetics  are  an- 
swered by  the  Stoics ;  they  have  my  leave  to  fight  it  out, 
who  think  myself  no  otherwise  concerned  than  to  inquire 
for  what  may  seem  to  be  most  probable.  Our  present 
business  is,  then,  to  see  if  we  can  meet  with  anything  in 
this  question  which  is  the  probable,  for  beyond  such  ap- 
])roximation  to  truth  as  that  human  nature  cannot  proceed. 
The  definition  of  a  perturbation,  as  Zeno,  I  think,  lias 
rightly  determined  it,  is  thus :  That  a  perturbation  is  a 
commotion  of  the  mind  against  nature,  in  opposition  to 
right  reason ;  or,  more  briefly,  thus,  that  a  perturbation  is 
a  somewhat  too  vehement  appetite;  and  when  he  says 
somewhat  too  vehement,  he  means  such  as  is  at  a  greater 
distance  from  the  constant  course  of  nature.  What  can  I 
say  to  these  definitions?  The  greater  part  of  them  we 
have  from  those  who  dispute  with  sagacity  and  acuteness : 
some  of  them  expressions,  indeed,  such  as  the  "ardors  of 
the  mind,"  and  "  the  whetstones  of  virtue,"  savoring  of  the 
pomp  of  rhetoricians.  As  to  the  question,  if  a  brave  man 
can  maintain  his  courage  without  becoming  angry,  it  may 
be  questioned  with  regard  to  the  gladiators;  though  we 
often  observe  much  resolution  even  in  them :  they  meet, 
converse,  they  make  objections  and  demands,  they  agree 
about  terms,  so  that  they  seem  calm  rather  than  angry. 
But  let  us  admit  a  man  of  the  name  of  Placideianus,  who 
was  one  of  that  trade,  to  be  in  such  a  mind,  as  Lucilius 
relates  of  him, 

If  for  liis  blood  yoti  thirst,  the  task  he  iniiie; 
His  laurels  at  my  feet  he  shall  resign  ; 
Not  but  I  know,  before  1  reach  his  heart, 
First  on  myself  a  wound  he  will  impart. 
I  hate  the  man  ;  enraged  I  fight,  and  straight 
In  action  we  had  been,  but  that  I  wait 
Till  each  his  sword  had  fitted  to  his  hand. 
My  rage  I  scarce  can  keep  within  command. 


ON   OTHEU  PERTUKBATIONS   OF  THE  MIND.      147 

XXII.  But  we  see  Ajax  in  Homer  advancing  to  meet 
Hector  in  battle  clieerfully,  without  any  of  this  boister- 
ous wrath.  For  he  had  no  sooner  taken  up  his  arms  than 
the  first  step  which  he  made  inspired  his  associates  with 
joy,  his  enemies  with  fear;  so  that  even  Hector,  as  he  is 
represented  by  Homer,^  trembling,  condemned  himself  for 
having  challenged  him  to  fight.  Yet  these  heroes  conversed 
together,  calmly  and  quietly,  before  they  engaged;  nor 
did  they  show  any  anger  or  outrageous  behavior  during 
the  combat.  Nor  do  I  imagine  that  Torquatus,  the  first 
who  obtained  this  surname,  was  in  a  rage  when  he  plun- 
dered the  Gaul  of  his  collar ;  or  that  Marcellus's  courage 
at  Clastidium  was  only  owing  to  his  anger.  I  could  al- 
most swear  that  Africanus,  with  whom  we  are  better  ac- 
quainted, from  our  recollection  of  him  being  more  recent, 
was  noways  inflamed  by  anger  when  he  covered  Alieims 
Pelignus  with  his  shield,  and  drove  his  sword  into  the 
enemy's  breast.  There  may  be  some  doubt  of  L.  Brutus, 
whether  he  was  not  influenced  by  extraordinary  hatred  of 
the  tyrant,  so  as  to  attack  iVruns  with  more  than  usual 
rashness;  for  I  observe  that  they  mutually  killed  each 
other  in  close  fight.  Why,  then,  do  you  call  in  the  assist- 
ance of  anger?     Would  courage,  unless  it  began  to  get 

^  Cicevo  alludes  here  to  11.  vii.  211,  which  is  thus  translated  by  Pope: 

His  massy  javelin  quivering  in  his  liand, 
He  stood  the  bulwark  of  the  Grecian  band ; 
Through  every  Argive  heart  new  transport  ran, 
All  Troy  stood  trembling  at  the  mighty  man  : 
E'en  Hector  paused,  and  with  new  doubt  oppress'd, 
Felt  his  great  heart  suspended  in  his  breast ; 
'Twas  vain  to  seek  retreat,  and  vain  to  fear, 
Himself  had  challenged,  and  the  foe  drew  near. 

But  Melmoth  (Note  on  the  Familiar  Letters  of  Cicero,  book  ii.  Let.  23) 
rightly  accuses  Cicero  of  having  misunderstood  Homer,  who  "by  no 
means  represents  Hector  as  being  thus  totally  dismayed  at  the  approach 
of  his  adversary;  and,  indeed,  it  would  have  been  inconsistent  with  the 
general  character  of  that  hero  to  have  described  him  under  such  circum- 
stances of  terror." 

Tov  &e  Kal  'ApycTo^ jut7'  eyrjOeov  eio-opocoi/rer, 
Tptocif  dfc  TpoiJioi  'ii/09  inrrjkvOe  ivia  tKaaTOV, 
"EKTOpt  d'  ahr(^  ifvfioi  evi  aTi]Oeaai  itonavaev. 

But  there  is  a  great  difference,  as  Dr.  Clarke  remarks,  between  %/oc 
kvl  GTrjdtaaL  TrdTaaoev  and  Kapdiri  i^cj  Grrjdeuv  eBpuGKEV,  or  rp6/uo(;  alvoQ 
VTrT/Xvde  yvla. —  The  Trojans,  says  Homer,  trembled  at  tire  sight  of  Ajax, 
and  even  Hector  himself  felt  some  emotion  in  his  breast. 


148  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

furious,  lose  its  energy?  What!  do  you  imagine  that 
Hercules,  whom  the  very  courage  which  you  would  try  to 
represent  as  anger  raised  to  heaven,  was  angry  when  he 
engaged  the  Erymanthian  boar,  or  the  Nemjean  lion  ?  Or 
w^as  Theseus  in  a  passion  when  he  seized  on  the  horns  of 
the  Marathonian  bull  ?  Take  care  how  you  make  courage 
to  depend  in  tlie  least  on  rage.  For  anger  is  altogether 
irrational,  and  that  is  not  courage  which  is  void  of  reason. 
XXIII.  We  ouglit  to  hold  all  things  here  in  contempt ; 
death  is  to  be  looked  on  with  indifference;  pains  and  la- 
bors must  be  considered  as  easily  supportable.  And  when 
these  sentiments  are  established  on  judgment  and  convic- 
tion, then  will  that  stout  and  firm  courage  take  place; 
unless  you  attribute  to  anger  whatever  is  done  with  ve- 
hemence, alacrity,  and  spirit.  To  me,  indeed,  that  very 
Scipio^  who  was  chief  priest,  that  favorer  of  the  saying  of 
the  Stoics, "  That  no  private  man  could  be  a  wise  man," 
does  not  seem  to  be  angry  with  Tiberius  Gracchus,  even 
when  he  left  the  consul  in  a  hesitating  frame  of  mind,  and, 
though  a  private  man  himself,  commanded,  with  the  au- 
thority of  a  consul,  that  all  who  meant  well  to  the  repub- 
lic should  follow  him.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  have  done 
anything  in  the  republic  that  has  the  appearance  of  cour- 
age ;  but  if  I  have,  I  certainly  did  not  do  it  in  wrath. 
Doth  anything  come  nearer  madness  than  anger?  And 
indeed  Ennius  has  well  defined  it  as  the  beginning  of  mad- 
ness. The  changing  color,  tlie  alteration  of  our  voice,  the 
look  of  our  eyes,  our  manner  of  fetching  our  breath,  the 
little  command  we  have  over  our  words  and  actions,  how 
little  do  all  these  things  indicate  a  sound  mind !  What 
can  make  a  worse  appearance  than  Homer's  Achilles,  or 
Agamemnon,  during  the  quarrel?  And  as  to  Ajax,  anger 
drove  him  into  downright  madness,  and  was  the  occasion 
of  his  death.  Courage,  therefore,  does  not  want  the  as-, 
sistance  of  anger;  it  is  sufficiently  provided,  armed,  and 
prepared  of  itself.  We  may  as  well  say  that  drunkenness 
or  madness  is  of  service  to  courage,  because  those  who 

'  Cicero  means  Scipio  Nasica,  who,  in  the  riots  consequent  on  the  re- 
election of  Tiberius  Gracchus  to  the  tribunate,  133  B.C.,  liaving  called 
in  vain  on  the-  consul,  Mucins  Scajvola,  to  save  tiio  republic,  attacked 
Gracchus  himself,  who  was  slain  in  the  tumult. 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      149 

are  mad  or  drunk  often  do  a  great  many  things  with  un- 
usual vehemence.  Ajax  was  always  brave;  but  still  be 
was  most  brave  when  he  was  in  that  state  of  frenzy  •, 

The  greatest  feat  that  Ajax  e'er  achieved 
Was,  when  his  single  arm  the  Greeks  relieved. 
Quitting  the  field  ;  urged  on  by  rising  rage, 
Forced  the  declining  troops  again  t' engage. 

Shall  we  say,  then,  that  madness  has  its  use? 

XXIV.  Examine  the  definitions  of  courage:  you  will 
find  it  does  not  require  the  assistance  of  passion.  Cour- 
age is,  then,  an  affection  of  mind  that  endures  all  things, 
being  itself  in  proper  subjection  to  the  highest  of  all  laws; 
or  it  may  be  called  a  firm  maintenance  of  judgment  in 
supporting  or  repelling  everything  that  has  a  formidable 
appearance,  or  a  knowledge  of  what  is  formidable  or  oth- 
erwise, and  maintaining  invariably  a  stable  judgment  of 
all  such  things,  so  as  to  bear  them  or  despise  them ;  or,  in 
fewer  words,  according  to  Chrysippus  (for  the  above  defi- 
nitions are  Sphaerus's,  a  man  of  the  first  ability  as  a  layer- 
down  of  definitions,  as  the  Stoics  think.  But  they  are  all 
pretty  much  alike :  they  give  us  only  common  notions, 
some  one  way,  and  some  another).  But  what  is  Chrysip- 
pus's  definition?  Fortitude,  says  he,  is  the  knowledge  of 
all  things  that  are  bearable,  or  an  affection  of  the  mind 
which  bears  and  supports  everything  in  obedience  to  the 
chief  law  of  reason  without  fear.  Now,  though  we  should 
attack  these  men  in  the  same  manner  as  Carneades  used 
to  do,  I  fear  they  are  the  only  real  philosophers;  for 
which  of  these  definitions  is  there  which  does  not  explain 
that  obscure  and  intricate  notion  of  courage  which  every 
man  conceives  within  himself?  And  when  it  is  thus  ex- 
plained, what  can  a  warrior,  a  commander,  or  an  orator 
want  more?  And  no  one  can  think  that  they  will  be 
unable  to  behave  themselves  courageously  without  anger. 
What !  do  not  even  the  Stoics,  who  maintain  that  all  fools 
are  mad,  make  the  same  inferences?  for,  take  aw\ay  per- 
turbations, especially  a  hastiness  of  temper,  and  they  will 
appear  to  talk  very  absurdly.  But  what  they  assert  is 
this  :  they  say  that  all  fools  are  mad,  as  all  dunghills  stink ; 
not  that  they  always  do  so,  but  stir  them,  and  you  will 
perceive  it.     And  in  like  manner,  a  warra-tempered  man  la 


150  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

not  always  in  a  passion ;  but  provoke  him,  and  you  will 
see  him  run  mad.  Now,  that  very  warlike  anger,  which 
is  of  such  service  in  war,  what  is  the  use  of  it  to  him 
when  he  is  at  home  with  his  wife,  children,  and  family? 
Is  there,  then,  anything  tliat  a  disturbed  mind  can  do  bet- 
ter than  one  which  is  calm  and  steady?  Or  cnn  any  one 
be  angry  without  a  perturbation  of  mind  ?  Our  people, 
then,  were  in  the  right,  who,  as  all  vices  depend  on  our 
manners,  and  nothing  is  worse  than  a  passionate  dispo- 
sition, called  angry  men  the  only  morose  men.^ 

XXY.  Anger  is  in  no  wise  becoming  in  an  orator, 
though  it  is  not  amiss  to  affect  it.  Do  you  imagine  that 
I  am  angry  when  in  pleading  I  use  any  extraordinary  ve- 
hemence and  sharpness?  What!  when  I  write  out  my 
speeches  after  all  is  over  and  past,  am  I  then  angry  while 
writing?  Or  do  you  think  ^sopus  was  ever  angry  Avhen 
he  acted,  or  Accius  was  so  when  he  wrote  ?  Those  men, 
indeed,  act  very  well,  but  the  orator  acts  better  than  the 
player,  provided  he  be  really  an  orator ;  but,  then,  they 
carry  it  on  without  passion,  and  with  a  composed  mind. 
But  what  wantonness  is  it  to  commend  lust !  You  pro- 
duce Themistocles  and  Demosthenes;  to  these  you  add 
Pythagoras,  Democritus,  and  Plato.  What !  do  you  then 
call  studies  lust?  But  these  studies  of  the  most  excellent 
and  admirable  things,  such  as  those  were  which  you  bring 
forward  on  all  occasions,  ought  to  be  composed  and  tran- 
quil; and  what  kind  of  philosophers  are  they  who  com- 
mend grief,  than  which  nothing  is  more  detestable  ?  Afra- 
nius  has  said  much  to  this  purpose: 

Let  him  but  grieve,  no  matter  what  the  cause. 

But  he  spoke  this  of  a  debauched  and  dissolute  youth. 
But  we  are  inquiring  into  the  conduct  of  a  constant  and 
wise  man.  We  may  even  allow  a  centurion  or  standard- 
bearer  to  be  angry,  or  any  others,  whom,  not  to  explain 
too  far  the  mysteries  of  the  rhetoricians,  I  shall  not  men- 
tion here;  for  to  touch  the  passions,  where  reason  cannot 
be  come  at,  may  have  its  use;  but  my  inquiry,  as  I  often 
repeat,  is  about  a  wise  man. 

*  Morosus  is  evidently  derived  from  mores — ^^  Morosus,  mos,  stubborn- 
ness, self-will,  etc." — lllUdle  and  Arnold,  Lat,  Diet. 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      151 

XXVI.  But  even  envy,  detraction,  pity,  have  their  use. 
Why  should  you  pity  rather  than  assist,  if  it  is  in  your 
power  to  do  so  ?  Is  it  because  you  cannot  be  liberal  with- 
out pity  ?  We  should  not  take  sorrows  on  ourselves  upon 
another's  account;  but  we  ought  to  relieve  others  of  their 
grief  if  we  can.  But  to  detract  from  another's  reputation, 
or  to  rival  him  with  that  vicious  emulation  which  resem- 
bles an  enmity,  of  what  use  can  that  conduct  be?  Now, 
envy  implies  being  uneasy  at  another's  good  because  one 
does  not  enjoy  it  one's  self;  but  detraction  is  the  being 
uneasy  at  another's  good,  merely  because  he  enjoys  it. 
How  can  it  be  right  that  you  should  voluntarily  grieve, 
rather  than  take  the  trouble  of  acquiring  what  you  want 
to  have  ?  for  it  is  madness  in  the  highest  degree  to  desire 
to  be  the  only  one  that  has  any  particular  happiness.  But 
who  can  with  correctness  speak  in  praise  of  a  mediocrity 
of  evils  ?  Can  any  one  in  whom  there  is  lust  or  desire  be 
otherwise  than  libidinous  or  desirous?  or  can  a  man  who 
is  occupied  by  anger  avoid  being  angry?  or  can  one  who 
is  exposed  to  any  vexation  escape  being  vexed  ?  or  if  he  is 
under  the  influence  of  fear,  must  he  not  be  fearful?  Do 
we  look,  then,  on  the  Hbidinous,  the  angry,  the  anxious,  and 
the  timid  man,  as  persons  of  wisdom,  of  excellence?  of 
which  I  could  speak  very  copiously  and  diffusely,  but  I 
wish  to  be  as  concise  as  possible.  And  so  I  will  merely 
say  tliat  wisdom  is  an  acquaintance  with  all  divine  and 
human  affairs,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  cause  of  everything. 
Hence  it  is  that  it  imitates  what  is  divine,  and  looks  upon 
all  human  concerns  as  inferior  to  virtue.  Did  you,  then, 
say  that  it  Avas  your  opinion  that  such  a  man  was  as  nat- 
urally liable  to  perturbation  as  the  sea  is  exposed  to  winds? 
What  is  there  that  can  discompose  such  gravity  and  con- 
stancy ?  Anything  sudden  or  unforeseen  ?  How  can  any- 
thing^ of  this  kind  befall  one  to  whom  nothino;  is  sudden 
and  unforeseen  that  can  happen  to  man  ?  Now,  as  to  their 
saying  that  redundancies  should  be  pared  off,  and  only 
what  is  natural  remain,  what,  I  pray  you,  can  be  natural 
which  may  be  too  exuberant? 

XXVII.  All  these  assertions  proceed  from  the  roots  of 
errors,  which  must  be  entirely  plucked  up  and  destroyed, 
not  pared  and  amputated.     But  as  I  suspect  that  your  in- 


152  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

quiry  is  not  so  much  respecting  the  wise  man  as  concern-' 
ing  yourself  (for  you  allow  that  he  is  free  from  all  pertur- 
bations, and  you  would  willingly  be  so  too  yourself),  let  us 
see  what  remedies  there  are  which  may  be  applied  by  ])hi- 
losophy  to  the  diseases  of  the  mind.  There  is  certainly 
some  remedy;  nor  has  nature  been  so  unkind  to  the  hu- 
man race  as  to  have  discovered  so  many  things  salutary  to 
the  body,  and  none  which  are  medicinal  to  the  mind.  She 
has  even  been  kinder  to  the  mind  than  to  the  body ;  inas- 
much as  you  must  seek  abroad  for  the  assistance  which 
the  body  requires,  while  the  mind  has  all  that  it  requires 
within  itself.  But  in  proportion  as  the  excellency  of  the 
mind  is  of  a  higher  and  more  divine  nature,  the  more  dil- 
igence does  it  require;  and  therefore  reason,  when  it  is 
well  applied,  discovers  what  is  best,  but  when  it  is  neg- 
lected, it  becomes  involved  in  many  errors.  I  shall  apply, 
then,  all  my  discourse  to  you ;  for  though  you  pretend  to 
be  inquiring  about  the  wise  man,  your  inquiry  may  pos- 
sibly be  about  yourself.  Various,  then,  are  the  cures  ol 
those  perturbations  which  I  have  expounded,  for  every  dis- 
order is  not  to  be  appeased  the  same  way.  One  medicine 
must  be  applied  to  the  man  who  mourns,  another  to  the 
pitiful,  another  to  the  person  who  envies ;  for  there  is  this 
difference  to  be  maintained  in  all  the  four  perturbations : 
we  are  to  consider  whether  our  discourse  had  better  be 
directed  to  perturbations  in  general,  which  are  a  contempt 
of  reason,  or  a  somewhat  too  vehement  appetite ;  or  wheth- 
er it  would  be  better  applied  to  particular  descriptions,  as, 
for  instance,  to  fear,  lust,  and  the  rest,  and  whether  it  ap- 
pears preferable  to  endeavor  to  remove  that  which  has  oc- 
casioned the  grief,  or  rather  to  attempt  wholly  to  eradi- 
cate every  kind  of  grief.  As,  should  any  one  grieve  that 
he  is  poor,  the  question  is.  Would  you  maintain  poverty  to 
be  no  evil,  or  would  you  contend  that  a  man  ought  not  to 
grieve  at  anything?  Certainly  this  last  is  the  best  course ; 
for  should  you  not  convince  him  with  regard  to  poverty, 
you  must  allow  him  to  grieve ;  but  if  you  remove  grief  by 
particular  arguments,  such  as  I  used  yesterday,  the  evil  of 
poverty  is  in  some  manner  removed. 

XXVIII.  But  any  perturbation  of  the  mind  of  this  sort 
may  be,  as  it  were,  wiped  away  by  the  method  of  nppeas- 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      153 

ing  the  mind,  if  you  succeed  in  showing  that  there  is  no 
good  in  tiiat  which  has  given  rise  to  joy  and  hist,  nor  any 
evil  in  that  which  has  occasioned  fear  or  grief.  But  cer- 
tainly the  most  effectual  cure  is  to  be  achieved  by  show- 
ing that  all  perturbations  are  of  themselves  vicious,  and 
have  nothing  natural  or  necessary  in  them.  As  we  see, 
grief  itself  is  easily  softened  when  we  charge  those  who 
grieve  with  weakness  and  an  effeminate  mind;  or  when 
we  commend  the  gravity  and  constancy  of  those  who  bear 
calmly  whatever  befalls  them  here,  as  accidents  to  which 
all  men  are  liable ;  and,  indeed,  this  is  generally  the  feeling 
of  those  who  look  on  these  as  real  evils,  but  yet  think  they 
should  be  borne  with  resignation.  One  imagines  pleasure 
to  be  a  good,  another  money ;  and  yet  the  one  may  be 
called  oft:  from  intemperance,  the  other  from  covetousness. 
The  other  method  and  address,  which,  at  the  same  time 
that  it  removes  the  false  opinion,  withdraws  the  disorder, 
has  more  subtlety  in  it;  but  it  seldom  succeeds,  and  is 
not  applicable  to  vulgar  minds,  for  there  are  some  dis- 
eases which  that  medicine  can  by  no  means  remove.  For, 
should  any  one  be  uneasy  because  he  is  without  virtue, 
without  courage,  destitute  of  a  sense  of  duty  or  honesty, 
his  anxiety  proceeds  from  a  real  evil;  and  yet  wq  must  ap- 
ply another  method  of  cure  to  him,  and  such  a  one  as 
all  the  philosophers,  however  they  may  differ  about  other 
things,  agree  in.  For  they  must  necessarily  agree  in  this, 
that  commotions  of  the  mind  in  opposition  to  right  rea- 
son are  vicious ;  and  that  even  admitting  those  things  to 
be  evils  which  occasion  fear  or  grief,  and  those  to  be 
goods  Avliich  provoke  desire  or  joy,  yet  that  very  com- 
motion itself  is  vicious;  for  w^e  mean  by  the  expressions 
magnanimous  and  brave,  one  who  is  resolute,  sedate, 
grave,  and  su])erior  to  everything  in  this  life;  but  one 
who  either  grieves,  or  fears,  or  covets,  or  is  transported 
with  passion,  cannot  come  under  that  denomination;  for 
these  things  are  consistent  only  with  those  who  look  on 
the  things  of  this  world  as  things  with  which  their  minds 
are  unequal  to  contend. 

XXIX.  Wherefore,  as  I  before  said,  the  philosophers 
have  all  one  method  of  cure,  so  that  we  need  say  nothing 
about  whnt  sort  of  thing  that  is  which  disturbs  the  mind. 


154  THE   TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

but  we  must  speak  only  concerning  the  perturbation  itself. 
Thus,  first,  with  regard  to  desire  itself,  when  the  business 
is  only  to  remove  that,  the  inquiry  is  not  to  be,  whether 
that  thing  be  good  or  evil  which  provokes  lust,  but  the 
lust  itself  is  to  be  removed;  so  that  whether  whatever  is 
honest  is  the  chief  good,  or  whether  it  consists  in  pleasure, 
or  in  both  these  things  together,  or  in  the  other  three 
kinds  of  goods,  yet  should  there  be  in  any  one  too  vehe- 
ment an  appetite  for  even  virtue  itself,  the  whole  discourse 
should  be  directed  to  the  deterring  him  from  that  vehe- 
mence. But  human  nature,  when  placed  in  a  conspicuous 
point  of  view,  gives  us  every  argument  for  appeasing  the 
mind,  and,  to  make  this  the  more  distinct,  the  laws  and 
conditions  of  life  should  be  explained  in  our  discourse. 
Therefore,  it  was  not  without  reason  that  Socrates  is  re- 
ported, when  Euripides  was  exhibiting  his  play  called 
Orestes,  to  have  repeated  the  first  three  verses  of  that 
tragedy — 

What  tragic  story  men  can  mournful  tell, 
Whate'er  fiom  fate  or  from  the  gods  befell, 
That  human  nature  can  support — ^ 

But,  in  order  to  persuade  those  to  whom  any  misfortune 
has  happened  that  they  can  and  ought  to  bear  it,  it  is  very 
useful  to  set  before  them  an  enumeration  of  other  persons 
who  have  borne  similar  calamities.  Indeed,  the  method  of 
appeasing  grief  was  explained  in  my  dispute  of  yester- 
day, and  in  my  book  on  Consolation,  which  I  wrote  in  the 
midst  of  my  own  grief;  for  I  was  not  myself  so  wise  a 
man  as  to  be  insensible  to  grief,  and  I  used  this,  notwith- 
standing Chrysippus's  advice  to  the  contrary,  who  is 
against  applying  a  medicine  to  the  agitations  of  the  mind 
while  they  are  fresh;  but  I  did  it,  and  committed  a  vio- 
lence on  nature,  that  the  greatness  of  my  grief  might  give 
way  to  the  greatness  of  the  medicine. 

XXX.  But  fear  borders  upon  grief,  of  which  I  have  al- 
ready said  enough;  but  I  must  say  a  little  more  on  that. 
Now,  as  grief  proceeds  from  what  is  present,  so  does  fear 

*  In  the  original  they  run  thus : 

OvK  iffTiv  oiibiv  detvov  w6'  elneiv  Hiror, 
Ovde  ndOov,  ov6e  ^i)fi<pof)<t  Oeti\aTOV 
'^Hf  OVK  av  upon'  ax^of  iivOpwnov  <pvan. 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      155 

from  future  evil;  so  that  some  have  said  that  fear  is  a 
certain  part  of  grief :  others  have  called  fear  the  harbin- 
ger of  trouble,  which,  as  it  were,  introduces  the  ensuing 
evil.  Now,  the  reasons  that  make  what  is  present  sup- 
portable, make  what  is  to  come  very  contemptible;  for, 
with  regard  to  both,  we  should  take  care  to  do  nothing 
low  or  grovelling,  soft  or  effeminate,  mean  or  abject.  But, 
notwithstanding  we  should  speak  of  the  inconstancy,  im- 
becility, and  levity  of  fear  itself,  yet  it  is  of  very  great 
service  to  speak  contemptuously  of  those  very  things  of 
which  we  are  afraid.  So  that  it  fell  out  very  well,  wheth- 
er it  was  by  accident  or  design,  that  I  disputed  the  first 
and  second  day  on  death  and  pain  —  the  two  things  that 
are  the  most  dreaded :  now,  if  what  I  then  said  was  ap- 
proved of,  we  are  in  a  great  degree  freed  from  fear.  And 
this  is  sufficient,  as  far  as  regards  the  opinion  of  evils. 

XXXI.  Proceed  we  now  to  what  are  goods — that  is  to 
say,  to  joy  and  desire.  To  me,  indeed,  one  thing  alone 
seems  to  embrace  the  question  of  all  that  relates  to  the 
perturbations  of  the  mind — the  fact,  namely,  that  all  per- 
turbations are  in  our  own  power ;  that  they  are  taken  up 
upon  opinion,  and  are  voluntary.  This  error,  then,  must 
be  got  rid  of;  this  opinion  must  be  removed  ;  and,  as  with 
regard  to  imagined  evils,  we  are  to  make  them  more  sup- 
portable, so  with  respect  to  goods,  we  are  to  lessen  the 
violent  effects  of  those  things  which  are  called  great  and 
joyous.  But  one  thing  is  to  be  observed,  that  equally  re- 
lates both  to  good  and  evil :  that,  should  it  be  difficult  to 
persuade  any  one  that  none  of  those  things  which  disturb 
the  mind  are  to  be  looked  on  as  good  or  evil,  yet  a  differ- 
ent cure  is  to  be  applied  to  different  feelings;  and  the 
malevolent  person  is  to  be  corrected  by  one  way  of  reason- 
ing, the  lover  by  another,  the  anxious  man  by  another,  and 
the  fearful  by  another :  and  it  w^ould  be  easy  for  any  one 
who  pursues  the  best  approved  method  of  reasoning,  with 
regard  to  good  and  evil,  to  maintain  that  no  fool  can  be 
affected  with  joy,  as  he  never  can  have  anything  good. 
But,  at  present,  my  discourse  proceeds  upon  the  common 
received  notions.  Let,  then,  honors,  riches,  pleasures,  and 
the  rest  be  the  very  good  things  which  they  are  imagined 
to  be ;  yet  a  too  elevated  and  exulting  joy  on  the  posses- 


156  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

sion  of  them  is  unbecoming;  just  as,  though  it  might  be 
allowable  to  laugh,  to  giggle  would  be  indecent.  Thus,  a 
mind  enlarged  by  joy  is  as  blamable  as  a  contraction  of  it 
by  grief;  and  eager  longing  is  a  sign  of  as  much  levity  in 
desiring  as  immoderate  joy  is  in  possesising;  and,  as  those 
who  are  too  dejected  are  said  to  be  effeminate,  so  tliey 
who  are  too  elated  with  joy  are  properly  called  volatile; 
and  as  feeUiig  envy  is  a  part  of  grief,  and  the  being 
pleased  with  another's  misfortune  is  a  kind  of  joy,  both 
these  feelings  are  usually  corrected  by  showing  the  wild- 
ness  and  insensibility  of  tliem :  and  as  it  becomes  a  man 
to  be  cautious,  but  it  is  unbecoming  in  him  to  be  fearful, 
so  to  be  pleased  is  proper,  but  to  be  joyful  improper.  I 
have,  in  order  that  I  might  be  the  better  understood,  dis- 
tinguished i^leasure  from  joy.  I  have  already  said  above, 
that  a  contraction  of  the  mind  can  never  be  right,  but  that 
an  elation  of  it  may;  for  the  joy  of  Hector  in  Nasvius  is 
one  thing — 

'Tis  joy  indeed  to  hear  my  praises  sung 

By  you,  who  are  the  theme  of  honor's  tongue — 

but  that  of  the  character  in  Trabea  another :  "  The  kind 
procuress,  allured  by  my  money,  will  observe  my  nod,  will 
watch  my  desires,  and  study  my  will.  If  I  but  move  the 
door  with  my  little  finger,  instantly  it  flies  open;  and  if 
Chrysis  should  unexpectedly  discover  me,  she  will  run 
with  joy  to  meet  me,  and  throw  herself  into  my  arms." 
Now  he  will  tell  you  how  excellent  he  thinks  this : 

Not  even  fortune  herself  is  so  fortunate. 

XXXII.  Any  one  who  attends  the  least  to  the  subject 
will  be  convinced  how  unbecoming  this  joy  is.  And  as 
they  are  very  shameful  who  are  immoderately  delighted 
with  the  enjoyment  of  venereal  pleasures,  so  are  they  very 
scandalous  who  lust  vehemently  after  them.  And  all  that 
which  is  commonly  called  love  (and,  believe  me,  I  can  find 
out  no  other  name  to  call  it  by)  is  of  such  a  trivial  nature 
that  nothing,  I  think,  is  to  be  compared  to  it :  of  which 
Ca3cilius  says, 

I  hold  the  man  of  every  sense  bereaved 

Who  grants  not  Love  to  be  of  Gods  the  chief: 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      157 

Whose  mighty  power  whatever  is  good  effects, 
Who  gives  to  each  his  beauty  and  defects : 
Hence,  health  and  sickness ;  wit  and  folly,  hence, 
The  God  that  love  and  hatred  doth  dispense! 

An  excellent  corrector  of  life  this  same  poetry,  which 
thinks  that  love,  the  promoter  of  debauchery  and  vanity, 
should  have  a  place  in  the  council  of  the  Gods !  I  am 
speaking  of  comedy,  which  could  not  subsist  at  all  without 
our  approving  of  these  debaucheries.  But  what  said  that 
chief  of  the  Argonauts  in  tragedy  ? 

My  life  I  owe  to  honor  lesa  than  love. 

What,  then,  are  we  to  say  of  this  love  of  Medea? — what  a 
train  of  miseries  did  it  occasion !  And  yet  the  same  woman 
has  the  assurance  to  say  to  her  father,  in  another  poet,  that 
she  had  a  husband 

Dearer  by  love  than  ever  fathers  were. 

XXXIII.  However,  we  may  allow  the  poets  to  trifle,  in 
whose  fables  w^e  see  Jupiter  himself  engaged  in  these  de- 
baucheries :  but  let  us  apply  to  the  masters  of  virtue — 
the  philosophers  who  deny  love  to  be  anything  carnal; 
and  in  this  they  differ  from  Epicurus,  who,  I  think,  is  not 
much  mistaken.  For  what  is  that  love  of  friendship? 
How  comes  it  that  no  one  is  in  love  with  a  deformed 
young  man,  or  a  handsome  old  one  ?  I  am  of  opinion 
that  this  love  of  men  had  its  rise  from  the  Gymnastics  of 
the  Greeks,  where  these  kinds  of  loves  are  admissible  and 
permitted  ;  therefore  Ennius  spoke  well : 

The  censure  of  this  crime  to  those  is  due 
Who  naked  bodies  first  exposed  to  view. 

Now,  supposing  them  chaste,  which  I  think  is  hardly  pos- 
sible, they  are  uneasy  and  distressed,  and  the  more  so  be- 
cause they  contain  and  refrain  themselves.  But,  to  pass 
ovoi*  the  love  of  women,  where  nature  has  allowed  more 
liberty,  who  can  misunderstand  the  poets  in  their  rape  of 
Ganymede,  or  not  apprehend  what  Laius  says,  and  what 
he  desires,  in  Euripides  ?  Lastly,  what  have  the  principal 
poets  and  the  most  learned  men  published  of  themselves 
in  their  poems  and  songs  ?     What  doth  Alcaeus,  who  was 


158  THE  TUSCULAN  DISrUTATIONS. 

distinguished  in  his  own  repubUc  for  liis  bravery,  write  on 
the  love  of  young  men  ?  And  as  for  Anacreon's  poetry,  it 
is  wholly  on  love.  But  Ibycus  of  Rhegium  appears,  from 
his  writings,  to  have  had  this  love  stronger  on  him  than 
all  the  rest. 

XXXIV.  Now  we  see  that  the  loves  of  all  these  writ- 
ers were  entirely  libidinous.  There  have  arisen  also  some 
among  us  philosophers  (and  Plato  is  at  the  head  of  them, 
whom  Dicsearchus  blames  not  without  reason)  who  liave 
countenanced  love.  The  Stoics,  in  truth,  say,  not  only 
that  their  wise  man  may  be  a  lover,  but  they  even  define 
love  itself  as  an  endeavor  to  originate  friendship  out  of 
the  appearance  of  beauty.  Now,  provided  there  is  any 
one  in  the  nature  of  things  without  desire,  without  care, 
without  a  sigh,  such  a  one  may  be  a  lover ;  for  he  is  free 
from  all  lust :  but  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  him,  as  it  is 
lust  of  which  I  am  now  speaking.  But  should  there  be 
any  love — as  theVe  certainly  is — which  is  but  little,  or  per- 
haps not  at  all,  short  of  madness,  such  as  his  is  in  the 
Leucadia — 

Should  there  be  any  God  whose  care  I  am — 

it  is  incumbent  on  all  the  Gods  to  see  that  he  enjoys  his 

amorous  pleasure. 

Wretch  that  I  am  ! 

Nothing  is  more  true,  and  he  says  very  appropriately, 

What,  are  you  sane,  who  at  this  rate  lament  ? 

He  seems  even  to  his  friends  to  be  out  of  his  senses :  then 
how  tragical  he  becomes  ! 

Thy  aid,  divine  Apollo,  I  implore. 

And  thine,  dread  ruler  of  the  wat'ry  store! 

Oh !  all  ye  winds,  assist  me  I 

He  thinks  that  the  whole  world  ought  to  apply  itself  to 
help  his  love:  he  excludes  Venus  alone,  as  unkind  to  him. 

Thy  aid,  O  Venus,  why  should  I  invoke  ? 

He  thinks  Venus  too  much  employed  in  her  own  lust  to 
have  regard  to  anything  else,  as  if  he  himself  had  not  said 
and  committed  these  shameful  thino^s  from  lust. 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      159 

XXXy.  Now,  the  cure  for  one  who  is  affected  in  this 
manner  is  to  show  how  light,  how  contemptible,  how 
very  trifling  he  is  in  what  he  desires;  how  he  may  turn 
his  affections  to  another  object,  or  accomplish  his  desires 
by  some  other  means;  or  else  to  persuade  him  that  he 
may  entirely  disregard  it:  sometimes  he  is  to  be  led  away 
to  objects  of  another  kind,  to  study,  business,  or  other 
I  different  engagements  and  concerns:  very  often  the  cure 
is  effected  by  change  of  place,  as  sick  people,  that  have 
not  recovered  their  strength,  are  benefited  by  change  of 
air.  Some  people  think  an  old  love  may  be  driven  out 
by  a  new  one,  as  one  nail  drives  out  another:  but,  above 
all  things,  the  man  thus  afflicted  should  be  advised  what 
madness  love  is :  for  of  all  the  perturbations  of  the  mind, 
there  is  not  one  which  is  more  vehement;  for  (without 
charging  it  with  rapes,  debaucheries,  adultery,  or  even  in- 
cest, the  baseness  of  any  of  these  being  very  blamable; 
not,  I  say,  to  mention  these)  the  very  perturbation  of  the 
mind  in  love  is  base  of  itself,  for,  to  pass  over  all  its  acts 
of  downright  madness,  what  weakness  do  not  those  very 
things  which  are  looked  upon  as  indifferent  argue? 

Affronts  and  jealousies,  jars,  squabbles,  wars, 
Then  peace  again.     The  man  who  seeks  to  fix 
These  restless  feelings,  and  to  subjugate 
Them  to" some  regular  law,  is  just  as  wise 
As  one  who'd  try  to  Iny  down  rules  by  which 
Men  should  go  mad/ 

Now,  is  not  this  inconstancy  and  mutability  of  mind 
enough  to  deter  any  one  by  its  own  deformity?  We  are 
to  demonstrate,  as  was  said  of  every  perturbation,  that 
there  are  no  such  feelings  which  do  not  consist  entire- 
ly of  opinion  and  judgment,  and  are  not  owing  to  our- 
selves. For  if  love  were  natural,  all  Avould  be  in  love, 
and  always  so,  and  all  love  the  same  object;  nor  would 
one  be  deterred  by  shame,  another  by  reflection,  another 
by  satiety. 

XXXVI.  Anger,  too,  when  it  disturbs  the  mind  any 
time,  leaves  no  room  to  doubt  its  being  madness :  by  the 

'  This  passage  is  from  the  Eunuch  of  Terence,  act  i.,  sc.  1,  14. 


160  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

instigation  of  which  wc  see  such  contention  as  this  be- 
tween brothers  : 

Where  was  there  ever  impudence  Hke  thine  ? 
Who  on  thy  malice  ever  could  refine  ?' 

You  know  w^hat  follows :  for  abuses  are  thrown  out  by 
these  brothers  with  great  bitterness  in  every  other  verse; 
so  that  you  may  easily  know  them  for  the  sons  of  Atreus, 
of  that  Atreus  who  invented  a  new  punishment  for  his 
brother : 

I  who  his  cruel  heart  to  gall  am  bent, 
Some  new,  unheard-of  torment  must  invent. 

N'ow, what  were  these  inventions?     Hear  Tliyestes: 

My  impious  brother  fain  would  have  me  eat 
My  children,  and  thus  serves  them  up  for  meat. 

To  what  length  now  will  not  anger  go  ?  even  as  far  as 
madness.  Therefore  we  say,  properly  enough,  that  angry 
men  have  given  up  their  power,  that  is,  they  are  out  of 
the  power  of  advice,  reason,  and  understanding;  for  these 
ought  to  have  power  over  the  whole  mind.  [N^ow,  you 
should  put  those  out  of  the  way  whom  they  endeavor  to 
attack  till  they  have  recollected  themselves ;  but  what  does 
recollection  here  imply  but  getting  together  again  the  dis- 
persed parts  of  their  mind  into  their  proper  place  ?  or  else 
you  must  beg  and  entreat  them,  if  they  have  the  means 
of  revenge,  to  defer  it  to  another  opportunity,  till  their 
anger  cools.  But  the  expression  of  cooling  implies,  cer- 
tainly, that  there  was  a  heat  raised  in  their  minds  in  op- 
position to  reason ;  from  which  consideration  that  saying 
of  Archytas  is  commended,  who  being  somewhat  provoked 
at  his  steward, "  How  would  I  have  treated  you,"  said  he, 
"  if  I  had  not  been  in  a  passion  ?" 

XXXVn.  Where,  then,  are  they  who  say  that  anger 
has  its  use  ?  Can  madness  be  of  any  use  ?  But  still  it  is 
natural.  Can  anything  be  natural  that  is  against  reason  ? 
or  how  is  it,  if  anger  is  natural,  that  one  person  is  more 
inclined  to  anger  than  another?  or  that  the  lust  of  revenge 
should  cease  before  it  has  revenged  itself  ?  or  that  any  one 

'  These  verses  are  from  the  Atreus  of  Accius. 


ON  OTHER  PERTURBATIONS  OF  THE  MIND.      IGl 

should  repent  of  what  he  had  done  in  a  passion  ?  as  we  see 
that  Alexander  the  king  did,  who  could  scarcely  keep  his 
hands  from  himself,  when  he  had  killed  his  favorite  Cly- 
tus,  so  great  was  his  compunction.  Now  who  that  is  ac- 
quainted with  these  instances  can  doubt  that  this  motion 
of  the  mind  is  altogether  in  opinion  and  voluntary  ?  for 
who  can  doubt  that  disorders  of  the  mind,  such  as  covet- 
ousness  and  a  desire  of  glory,  arise  from  a  great  estima- 
tion of  those  things  by  which  the  mind  is  disordered  ? 
from  whence  we  may  understand  that  every  perturbation 
of  the  mind  is  founded  in  opinion.  And  if  boldness — that 
is  to  say,  a  firm  assurance  of  mind — is  a  kind  of  knowledge 
and  serious  opinion  not  hastily  taken  up,  then  diffidence 
is  a  fear  of  an  expected  and  impending  evil ;  and  if  hope 
is  an  expectation  of  good,  fear  must,  of  course,  be  an  ex- 
pectation of  evil.  Thus  fear  and  other  perturbations  are 
evils.  Therefore,  as  constancy  proceeds  from  knowledge, 
so  does  perturbation  from  error.  Now,  they  who  are  said 
to  be  naturally  inclined  to  anger,  or  to  pity,  or  to  envy,  or 
to  any  feeling  of  this  kind,  their  minds  are  constitutional- 
ly, as  it  were,  in  bad  health ;  yet  they  are  curable,  as  the 
disposition  of  Socrates  is  said  to  have  been ;  for  when  Zo- 
pyrus,  who  professed  to  know  the  character  of  every  one 
from  his  person,  had  heaped  a  great  many  vices  on  him  in 
a  public  assembly,  he  w\is  laughed  at  by  others,  who  could 
perceive  no  such  vices  in  Socrates ;  but  Socrates  kept  him 
in  countenance  by  declaring  that  such  vices  were  natural 
to  him,  but  that  he  had  got  the  better  of  them  by  his  rea- 
son. Therefore,  as  any  one  who  has  the  appearance  of  the 
best  constitution  may  yet  appear  to  be  naturally  rather  in- 
clined to  some  particular  disorder,  so  different  minds  may 
be  more  particularly  inclined  to  different  diseases.  But  as 
to  those  men  who  are  said  to  be  vicious,  not  by  nature, 
but  their  own  fault,  their  vices  proceed  from  w^rong  opin- 
ions of  good  and  bad  things,  so  that  one  is  more  prone  than 
another  to  different  motions  and  perturbations.  But,  just 
as  it  is  in  the  case  of  the  body,  an  inveterate  disease  is 
harder  to  be  got  rid  of  than  a  sudden  disorder ;  and  it  is 
more  easy  to  cure  a  fresh  tumor  in  the  eyes  than  to  re- 
move a  defluxion  of  any  continuance. 

XXXVIII.  But  as  the  cause  of  perturbations  is  now  dis- 


162  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

covered,  for  all  of  them  arise  from  the  judgment  or  opin- 
ion, or  volition,  I  shall  put  an  end  to  this  discourse.  But 
we  ought  to  be  assured,  since  the  boundaries  of  good  and 
evil  are  now  discovered,  as  far  as  they  are  discoverable  by 
man,  that  nothing  can  be  desired  of  philosophy  greater  or 
more  useful  than  the  discussions  which  we  have  held  these 
four  days.  For  besides  instilling  a  contempt  of  death,  and 
relieving  pain  so  as  to  enable  men  to  bear  it,  we  have  add- 
ed the  appeasing  of  grief,  than  which  there  is  no  greater 
evil  to  man.  For  though  every  perturbation  of  mind  is 
grievous,  and  differs  but  little  from  madness,  yet  we  are 
used  to  say  of  others  when  they  are  under  any  perturba- 
tion, as  of  fear,  joy,  or  desire,  that  they  are  agitated  and 
disturbed ;  but  of  those  who  give  themselves  up  to  grief, 
that  they  are  miserable,  afflicted,  wretched,  unhappy.  So 
that  it  doth  not  seem  to  be  by  accident,  but  with  reason 
proposed  by  you,  that  I  should  discuss  grief,  and  the  other 
perturbations  separately;  for  there  lies  the  spring  and  head 
of  all  our  miseries ;  but  the  cure  of  grief,  and  of  other  dis- 
orders, is  one  and  the  same  in  that  they  are  all  voluntary, 
and  founded  on  opinion  ;  we  take  them  on  ourselves  be- 
cause it  seems  right  so  to  do.  Philosophy  undertakes  to 
eradicate  this  error,  as  the  root  of  all  our  evils :  let  us  there- 
fore surrender  ourselves  to  be  instructed  by  it,  and  suffer 
ourselves  to  be  cured ;  for  while  these  evils  have  posses- 
sion of  us,  we  not  only  cannot  be  happy,  but  cannot  be 
right  in  our  minds.  We  must  either  deny  that  reason  can 
effect  anything,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  nothing  can  be 
done  right  without  reason,  or  else,  since  philosophy  de- 
pends on  the  deductions  of  reason,  we  must  seek  from  her, 
if  we  would  be  good  or  happy,  every  help  and  assistance 
for  living  well  and  happily. 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUEFICIENT.      163 


BOOK  V. 

WHETHER   VIRTUE    ALOi^E   BE    SUFFICIENT    FOR    A    HAPPY 

LIFE. 

I.  This  fifth  day,  Biutns,  shall  put  an  end  to  our  Tus- 
culan  Disputatious :  on  which  day  we  discussed  your  fa- 
vorite subject.  For  I  perceive  from  that  book  which  you 
wrote  for  me  with  the  greatest  accuracy,  as  well  as  from 
your  frequent  conversation,  that  you  are  clearly  of  this 
opinion,  that  virtue  is  of  itself  sufficient  for  a  happy  life  : 
and  though  it  may  be  difficult  to  prove  this,  on  account 
of  the  many  various  strokes  of  fortune,  yet  it  is  a  truth 
of  such  a  nature  that  we  should  en<leavor  to  facilitate  the 
proof  of  it.  For  among  all  the  topics  of  philosophy,  there 
is  not  one  of  more  dignity  or  importance.  For  as  the  first 
philosophers  must  have  had  some  inducement  to  neglect 
everything  for  the  search  of  the  best  state  of  life :  surely, 
the  inducement  must  have  been  the  hope  of  living  happi- 
ly, which  impelled  them,  to  devote  so  much  care  and  pains 
to  that  study.  Now,  if  virtue  was  discovered  and  carried 
to  perfection  by  them,  and  if  virtue  is  a  sufficient  securi- 
ty for  a  happy  life,  who  can  avoid  thinking  the  work  of 
philosophizing  excellently  recommended  by  them,  and  un- 
dertaken by  me  ?  But  if  virtue,  as  being  subject  to  such 
various  and  uncertain  accidents,  were  but  the  slave  of  fort- 
une, and  w^ere  not  of  sufficient  ability  to  support  herself, 
I  am  afraid  that  it  would  seem  desirable  rather  to  offer  up 
prayers,  than  to  rely  on  our  own  confidence  in  virtue  as 
the  foundation  for  our  hope  of  a  happy  life.  And,  indeed, 
when  I  reflect  on  those  troubles  with  which  I  have  been 
so  severely  exercised  by  fortune,  I  begin  to  distrust  this 
opinion;  and  sometimes  even  to  dread  the  weakness  and 
frailty  of  human  nature,  for  I  am  afraid  lest,  when  nature 
had  given  us  infirm  bodies,  and  had  joined  to  them  incur- 
able diseases  and  intolerable  pains,  she  perhaps  also  gave 
us  minds  participating  in  these  bodily  pains,  and  harassed 


164  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

also  with  troubles  and  uneasinesses,  peculiarly  tlieir  own. 
But  here  I  correct  myself  for  forming  my  judgment  of 
the  power  of  virtue  more  from  the  weakness  of  others,  or 
of  myself  perhaps,  than  from  virtue  itself :  for  she  herself 
(provided  there  is  such  a  thing  as  virtue ;  and  your  uncle 
Brutus  has  removed  all  doubt  of  it)  has  everything  that 
can  befall  mankind  in  subjection  to  her;  and  by  disre- 
garding such  things,  she  is  far  removed  from  being  at  all 
concerned  at  human  accidents;  and,  being  free  from  ev- 
ery imperfection,  she  thinks  that  nothing  which  is  exter- 
nal to  herself  can  concern  her.  But  we,  who  increase  ev- 
ery approaching  evil  by  our  fear,  and  every  present  one  by 
our  grief,  choose  rather  to  condemn  the  nature  of  things 
than  our  own  errors. 

II.  But  the  amendment  of  this  fault,  and  of  all  our  other 
vices  and  offences,  is  to  be  sought  for  in  philosophy:  and 
as  my  own  inclination  and  desire  led  me,  from  my  earliest 
youth  upward,  to  seek  her  protection,  so,  under  my  pres- 
ent misfortunes,  I  have  had  recourse  to  the  same  port  from 
whence  I  set  out,  after  having  been  tossed  by  a  violent 
tempest.  O  Philosophy,  thou  guide  of  life  !  thoa  discov- 
erer of  virtue  and  expeller  of  vices !  what  had  not  only  I 
myself,  but  the  whole  life  of  man,  been  without  you  ?  To 
you  it  is  that  we  owe  the  origin  of  cities ;  you  it  was  who 
called  together  the  dispersed  race  of  men  into  social  life ; 
you  united  them  together,  first,  by  placing  them  licar  one 
another,  then  by  marriages,  and  lastly,  by  the  communica- 
tion of  speech  and  languages.  You  have  been  the  inven- 
tress  of  laws;  you  have  been  our  instructress  in  morals 
and  discipline ;  to  you  we  fly  for  refuge ;  from  you  we  im- 
plore assistance ;  and  as  I  formerly  submitted  to  you  in  a 
great  degree,  so  now  I  surrender  up  myself  entirely  to  you. 
For  one  day  spent  well,  and  agreeably  to  your  precepts,  is 
preferable  to  an  eternity  of  error.  Whose  assistance,  then, 
can  be  of  more  service  to  me  than  yours,  when  you  have 
bestowed  on  us  tranquillity  of  life,  and  removed  the  fear 
of  death  ?  But  Philosophy  is  so  far  from  being  praised 
as  much  as  she  has  deserved  by  mankind,  that  she  is  whol- 
ly neglected  by  most  men,  and  actually  evil  spoken  of  by 
many.  Can  any  person  speak  ill  of  the  parent  of  life,  and 
dare  to  pollute  himself  thus  with  parricide,  and  be  so  im- 


WPIETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.      165 

piously  ungrateful  as  to  accuse  her  whom  he  ought  to  rev- 
erence, even  were  he  less  able  to  appreciate  the  advantages 
which  he  might  derive  from  her?  But  this  error,  I  imag- 
ine, and  this  darkness  has  spread  itself  over  the  minds  of 
ignorant  men,  from  their  not  being  able  to  look  so  far  back, 
and  from  their  not  imagining  that  those  men  by  whom  hu- 
man life  was  first  iinproved  were  philosophers  ;  for  though 
we  see  philosophy  to  have  been  of  long  standing,  yet  the 
name  must  be  acknowledged  to  be  but  modern. 

III.  But,  indeed,  who  can  dispute  the  antiquity  of  j^hi- 
losophy,  either  in  fact  or  name?  For  it  acquired  this  ex- 
cellent name  from  the  ancients,  by  the  knowledge  of  the 
origin  and  causes  of  everything,  both  divine  and  human. 
Thus  those  seven  I,u(poi,  as  they  were  considered  and  called 
by  the  Greeks,  have  always  been  esteemed  and  called  wise 
men  by  us ;  and  thus  Lycurgus  many  ages  before,  in  whose 
time,  before  the  building  of  this  city.  Homer  is  said  to 
have  lived,  as  well  as  Ulysses  and  Nestor  in  the  heroic 
ages,  are  all  handed  down  to  us  by  tradition  as  having  re- 
ally been  what  they  were  called,  wise  men ;  nor  would  it 
have  been  said  that  Atlas  supported  the  heavens,  or  that 
Prometheus  was  bound  to  Caucasus,  nor  would  Cepheus, 
with  his  wife,  his  son-in-law,  and  his  daughter  have  been 
enrolled  among  the  constellations,  but  that  their  more  than 
human  knowledge  of  the  heavenly  bodies  had  transferred 
their  names  into  an  erroneous  fable.  From  whence  all 
who  occupied  themselves  in  the  contemplation  of  nature 
Avere  both  considered  and  called  wise  men ;  and  that  name 
of  theirs  continued  to  the  age  of  Pythagoras,  who  is  re- 
ported to  have  gone  to  Phlius,  as  we  find  it  stated  by  Her- 
aclides  Ponticus,  a  very  learned  man,  and  a  pupil  of  Plato, 
and  to  have  discoursed  very  learnedly  and  copiously  on 
certain  subjects  with  Leon,  prince  of  the  Phliasii ;  and 
when  Leon,  admiring  his  ingenuity  and  eloquence,  asked 
him  what  art  he  particularly  professed,  his  answer  was, 
that  he  was  acquainted  with  no  art,  but  that  he  was  a 
philosopher.  Leon,  surprised  at  the  novelty  of  the  name, 
inquired  what  he  meant  by  the  name  of  philosopher,  and 
in  what  philosophers  differed  from  other  men ;  on  which 
Pythagoras  replied,  "That  the  life  of  man  seemed  to  him 
to  resejnble  those  games  which  were  celebrated  with  the 


166  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

greatest  possible  variety  of  sports  and  the  general  con- 
course of  all  Greece.  For  as  in  those  games  there  were 
some  persons  whose  object  Avas  glory  and  the  honor  of 
a  crown,  to  be  attained  by  the  performance  of  bodily  ex- 
ercises, so  others  were  led  thither  by  the  gain  of  buying 
and  selling,  and  mere  views  of  profit;  but  there  was  like- 
wise one  class  of  persons,  and  they  were  by  far  the  best, 
whose  aim  was  neither  applause  nor  profit,  but  who  came 
merely  as  spectators  through  curiosity,  to  observe  what 
was  done,  and  to  see  in  what  manner  things  were  carried 
on  there.  And  thus,  said  he,  we  come  from  another  life 
and  nature  unto  this  one,  just  as  men  come  out  of  some 
other  city,  to  some  much  frequented  mart;  some  being 
slaves  to  glory,  others  to  money ;  and  there  are  some  few 
who,  taking  no  account  of  anything  else,  earnestly  look 
into  the  nature  of  things;  and  these  men  call  themselves 
studious  of  Avisdom,  that  is,  pliilosophers :  and  as  there  it 
is  the  most  reputable  occupation  of  all  to  be  a  looker-on 
without  making  any  acquisition,  so  in  life,  the  contemplat- 
ing things,  and  acquainting  one's  self  with  them,  greatly 
exceeds  every  other  pursuit  of  life." 

IV.  Nor  w^as  Pythagoras  the  inventor  only  of  the  name, 
but  he  enlarged  also  the  thing  itself,  and,  when  he  came 
into  Italy  after  this  conversation  at  Phlius,  he  adorned  that 
Greece,  which  is  called  Great  Greece,  both  privately  and 
publicly,  witli  the  most  excellent  institutions  and  arts;  but 
of  his  school  and  system  I  shall,  perha|)s,  find  another  op- 
portunity to  speak.  But  numbers  and  motions,  and  the  be- 
ginning and  end  of  all  things,  Avere  the  subjects  of  the  an- 
cient philosophy  doAvn  to  Socrates,  Avho  was  a  pupil  of  Ar- 
chelaus,  Avho  had  been  the  disciple  of  Anaxagoras.  These 
made  diligent  inquiry  into  the  magnitude  of  tlie  stars,  their 
distances,  courses,  and  all  that  relates  to  the  heavens.  But 
Socrates  was  the  first  Avho  brought  down  philosophy  from 
the  heavens,  placed  it  in  cities,  introduced  it  into  families, 
and  obliged  it  to  examine  into  life  and  morals,  and  good 
and  evil.  And  liis  different  methods  of  discussing  ques- 
tions, together  with  the  variety  of  liis  to|)ics,  and  the  great- 
ness of  his  abilities,  being  immortalized  by  the  memory  and 
writings  of  Plato,  gave  vise  to  many  sects  of  ])hilosophers 
of  diffei'cnt  sentiments,  of  all  which  I  have  ])rincipaliy  ad- 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.      167 

hered  to  that  one  which,  in  my  opinion,  Socrates  himself 
followed ;  and  argue  so  as  to  conceal  my  own  opinion,  while 
I  deliver  others  from  their  errors,  and  so  discover  what  has 
the  greatest  appearance  of  probability  in  every  question. 
And  the  custom  Carneades  adopted  with  great  copiousness 
and  acuteness,  and  I  myself  have  often  given  in  to  it  on 
many  occasions  elsewhere,  and  in  this  manner,  too,  I  dis- 
puted lately,  in  my  Tusculan  villa;  indeed,!  have  sent  you 
a  book  of  the  four  former  days'  discussions ;  but  the  fifth 
day,  when  we  had  seated  ourselves  as  before,  what  we  were 
to  dispute  on  was  proposed  thus : 

V.  A.  I  do  not  think  virtue  can  possibly  be  sufficient 
for  a  happy  life. 

31.  But  my  friend  Brutus  thinks  so,  whose  judgment, 
with  submission,  I  greatly  prefer  to  yours. 

A.  I  make  no  doubt  of  it;  but  your  regard  for  him  is 
not  the  business  now :  the  question  is  now,  what  is  the  real 
character  of  that  quality  of  which  I  have  declared  my  opin- 
ion.    I  wish  you  to  dispute  on  that. 

31.  What !  do  you  deny  that  virtue  can  possibly  be  suf- 
ficient for  a  happy  life  ? 

A.  It  is  what  I  entirely  deny. 

3f.  What !  is  not  virtue  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  live 
as  we  ought,  honestly,  commend  ably,  or,  in  fine,  to  live 
well? 

A.  Certainly  sufficient. 

31.  Can  you,  then,  help  calling  any  one  miserable  who 
lives  ill  ?  or  will  you  deny  that  any  one  who  you  allow  lives 
well  must  inevitably  live  happily  ? 

A.  Why  may  I  not?  for  a  man  may  be  upright  in  his 
life,  honest,  praiseworthy,  even  in  the  midst  of  torments, 
and  therefore  live  well.  Provided  you  understand  what  I 
mean  by  well ;  for  when  I  say  well,  I  mean  with  constan- 
cy, and  dignity,  and  wisdom,  and  courage ;  for  a  man  may 
display  all  these  qualities  on  the  rack;  but  yet  the  rack  is 
inconsistent  with  a  happy  life. 

31.  What,  then?  is  your  happy  life  left  on  the  outside 
of  the  prison,  while  constancy,  dignity,  wisdom,  and  the 
other  virtues,  are  surrendered  up  to  the  executioner,  and 
bear  punishment  and  pain  without  reluctance? 

A.  You  must  look  out  for  something  new  if  you  would 


168  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

do  any  good.  These  things  have  very  little  effect  on  me, 
not  merely  from  their  being  common,  but  principally  be- 
cause, like  certain  light  wines  that  will  not  bear  water, 
these  arguments  of  the  Stoics  are  pleasanter  to  taste  than 
to  swallow.  As  when  that  assemblage  of  virtues  is  com- 
mitted to  the  rack,  it  raises  so  reverend  a  spectacle  before 
our  eyes  that  happiness  seems  to  hasten  on  towards  them, 
and  not  to  suffer  them  to  be  deserted  by  lier.  But  when 
you  take  your  attention  off  from  this  picture  and  these 
images  of  the  virtues  to  the  truth  and  the  reality,  what 
remains  without  disguise  is,  the  question  whether  any  one 
can  be  happy  in  torment?  Wherefore  let  us  now  examine 
that  point,  and  not  be  under  any  apprehensions,  lest  the 
virtues  should  expostulate,  and  complain  that  they  are  for- 
saken by  happiness.  For  if  prudence  is  connected  with 
every  virtue,  then  prudence  itself  discovers  this,  that  all 
good  men  are  not  therefore  happy  ;  and  she  recollects  many 
things  of  Marcus  Atiiius,^  Quintus  Csepio,^  Marcus  Aquil- 
ius;^  and  prudence  herself,  if  these  representations  are 
more  agreeable  to  you  than  the  things  themselves,  restrains 
happiness  when  it  is  endeavoring  to  throw  itself  into  tor- 
ments, and  denies  that  it  has  any  connection  with  pain  and 
torture. 

VI.  M.  I  can  easily  bear  with  your  behaving  in  this 
manner,  though  it  is  not  fair  in  you  to  prescribe  to  me 
how  you  would  have  me  carry  on  this  discussion.  But  I 
ask  you  if  I  have  effected  anything  or  nothing  in  the  pre- 
ceding days  ? 

A.  Yes ;  something  was  done,  some  little  matter  indeed. 

M.  But  if  that  is  the  case,  this  question  is  settled,  and 
almost  put  an  end  to. 

A.  How  so  ? 

M^.  Because  turbulent  motions  and  violent  agitations  of 

^  This  was  Marcus  Atilins  Reguhis,  the  story. of  whose  treatment  by 
the  Carthaginians  in  the  first  Punic  War  is  well  known  to  everybody, 

^  This  was  Quintus  Servilius  Caepio,  wlio,  105  b.c,  M'as  destroyed, 
Avith  his  army,  by  the  Cimbri,  it  was  believed  as  a  judgment  for  the  cov- 
etousness  wliich  he  had  displayed  in  the  plunder  of  Tolosa. 

^  This  was  Marcus  Aquilius,  who,  in  the  year  88  n,  c,  was  sent  against 
Mithridates  as  one  of  the  consular  legates ;  and,  being  defeated,  was  de- 
livered up  to  the  king  by  the  inhabitants  of  jMitylcnc.  Mithridates  put 
him  to  death  by  pouring  molten  gold  down  his  throat. 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE   SUFFICIENT.       169 

the  mind,  when  it  is  raised  and  elated  by  a  rash  impulse, 
getting  the  better  of  reason,  leave  no  room  for  a  happy 
life.  For  who  that  fears  either  pain  or  death,  the  one  of 
which  is  always  present,  the  other  always  impending,  can 
be  otherwise  than  miserable?  Now,  supposing  the  same 
person  —  which  is  often  the  case  —  to  be  afraid  of  pover- 
ty, ignominy,  infamy,  or  weakness,  or  blindness,  or,  lastly, 
slavery,  which  doth  not  only  befall  individual  men,  but 
often  even  the  most  powerful  nations;  now  can  any  one 
under  the  apprehension  of  these  evils  be  happy?  What 
shall  we  say  of  him  who  not  only  dreads  these  evils  as 
impending,  but  actually  feels  and  bears  them  at  present? 
Let  us  unite  in  the  same  person  banishment,  mourning, 
the  loss  of  children;  now,  how  can  any  one  \\ho  is  broken 
down  and  rendered  sick  in  body  and  mind  by  su''!i  af- 
fliction be  otherwise  than  very  miserable  indeed  ?  What 
reason,  again,  can  there  be  why  a  man  sliould  not  rightly 
enough  bo  called  miserable  whom  we  see  inflamed  and 
raging  with  lust,  coveting  everything  with  an  insatiable 
desire,  and,  in  proportion  as  he  derives  more  pleasure  from 
anything,  thirsting  the  more  violently  after  them?  And  as 
to  a  man  vainly  elated,  exulting  with  an  empty  joy,  and 
boasting  of  himself  without  reason,  is  not  he  so  much  tlio 
more  miserable  in  proportion  as  he  thinks  himself  happier? 
Therefore,  as  these  men  are  miserable,  so,  on  the  other 
hand,  those  are  happy  who  are  alarmed  by  no  fears,  wasted 
by  no  griefs,  provoked  by  no  lusts,  melted  by  no  languid 
pleasures  that  arise  from  vain  and  exulting  joys.  We 
look  on  the  sea  as  calm  when  not  the  least  breath  of  air 
disturbs  its  waves ;  and,  in  like  manner,  the  placid  and 
quiet  state  of  the  mind  is  discovered  when  unmoved  by 
any  perturbation.  Now,  if  there  be  any  one  who  holds 
the  power  of  fortune,  and  everything  human,  everything 
that  can  possibly  befall  any  man,  as  supportable,  so  as  to 
be  out  of  the  reach  of  fear  or  anxiety,  and  irf  such  a  man 
covets  nothing,  and  is  lifted  up  by  no  vain  joy  of  mind, 
what  can  prevent  his  being  happy?  And  if  these  are 
the  effects  of  virtue,  w^hy  cannot  virtue  itself  make  men 
happy? 

VII.  A.  But  the  other  of  these  two  propositions  is  unde- 
niable, that  they  who  are  under  no  apprehensions,  who  are 

8 


170  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

noways  uneasy,  who  covet  nothing,  who  are  lifted  up  by 
no  vain  joy,  are  liappy:  and  therefore  I  grant  you  that. 
But  as  for  the  other,  that  is  not  now  in  a  fit  state  for  dis- 
cussion ;  for  it  has  been  proved  by  your  former  arguments 
that  a  wise  man  is  free  from  every  perturbation  of  mind. 

M.  Doubtless,  then,  the  dispute  is  over;  for  the  question 
appears  to  have  been  entirely  exhausted. 

A.  I  think,  indeed,  that  that  is  almost  the  case. 

M.  But  yet  that  is  more  usually  the  case  with  the  mathe- 
maticians than  philosophers.  For  when  the  geometricians 
teach  anything,  if  what  tliey  have  before  taught  I'elates  to 
their  present  subject,  they  take  tliat  for  granted  which  has 
been  already  proved,  and  ex])lain  only  what  they  had  not 
written  on  before.  But  the  philosophers,  whatever  subject 
they  have  in  haufl,  get  together  everything  that  relates 
to  it,  notwithstanding  they  may  have  dilated  on  it  some- 
where else.  Were  not  that  the  case,  why  should  the 
Stoics  say  so  much  on  that  question,  Whether  virtue  was 
abundantly  sufficient  to  a  happy  life?  when  it  would  have 
been  answer  enough  that  they  had  before  taught  that 
nothing  was  good  but  what  was  honorable;  for,  as  this 
had  been  proved,  the  consequence  must  be  that  virtue  was 
sufficient  to  a  happy  life;  and  each  premise  may  be  made 
to  follow  from  the  admission  of  the  other,  so  that  if  it  be 
admitted  that  virtue  is  sufficient  to  secure  a  happy  life,  it 
may  also  be  inferred  that  nothing  is  good  except  what  is 
honorable.  They,  however,  do  not  proceed  in  this  manner ; 
for  they  would  separate  books  about  what  is  honorable, 
and  what  is  the  chief  good ;  and  when  they  have  demon- 
strated from  the  one  that  virtue  has  power  enough  to 
make  life  happy,  yet  they  treat  this  point  separately ;  for 
everything,  and  especially  a  subject  of  such  great  conse- 
quence, should  be  supported  by  arguments  and  exhorta- 
tions which  belong  to  that  alone.  For  you  should  have 
a  care  how  you  imagine  philosophy  to  have  uttered  any- 
thing more  noble,  or  that  she  has  promised  anytliing  more 
fruitful  or  of  greater  consequence,  for,  good  Gods !  doth 
she  not  engage  that  she  Avill  render  him  who  submits  to 
her  laws  so  accomplished  as  to  be  always  armed  against 
fortune,  and  to  have  every  assurance  within  himself  of 
living  well  and  happily — that  he  shall,  in  short,  be  forever 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE   SUFFICIENT.       171 

happy?  But  let  us  see  what  slie  will  perform?  In  the 
mean  while,  I  look  upon  it  as  a  great  thing  that  she  lias 
even  made  such  a  promise.  For  Xerxes,  who  was  loaded 
with  all  the  rewards  and  gifts  of  fortune,  not  satisfied  with 
his  armies  of  horse  and  foot,  nor  the  multitude  of  his 
ships,  nor  his  infinite  treasure  of  gold,  offered  a  reward  to 
any  one  who  could  find  out  a  new  pleasure ;  and  yet,  when 
it  was  discovered,  lie  was  not  satisfied  with  it ;  nor  can 
there  ever  be  an  end  to  lust.  I  wish  we  could  engage 
any  one  by  a  rew^ard  to  produce  something  the  better  to 
establish  us  in  this  belief. 

yill.  A.  I  wish  that,  indeed,  myself ;  but  I  w^ant  a  lit- 
tle information.  For  I  allow  that  in  what  you  have  stated 
the  one  proposition  is  the  consequence  of  the  other;  that 
as,  if  what  is  honorable  be  the  only  good,  it  must  follow 
that  a  happy  life  is  the  effect  of  virtue:  so  that  if  a  hap- 
py life  consists  in  virtue,  nothing  can  be  good  but  virtue. 
But  your  friend  Brutus,  on  the  authority  of  Aristo  and 
Antiochus,  does  not  see  this ;  for  he  thinks  the  case  would 
be  the  same  even  if  there  were  anything  good  besides 
virtue. 

31.  What,  then?  do  you  imagine  that  I  am  going  to 
argue  against  Brutus  ? 

A.  You  may  do  what  you  please ;  for  it  is  not  for  me 
to  prescribe  what  you  shall  do. 

M.  How  these  things  agree  together  shall  be  examined 
somewhere  else ;  for  I  frequently  discussed  that  point 
with  Antiochus,  and  lately  witli  Aristo,  when,  during  the 
period  of  my  command  as  general,  I  was  lodging  with 
him  at  Athens.  For  to  me  it  seemed  that  no  one  could 
possibly  be  happy  under  any  evil ;  but  a  wise  man  might 
be  afflicted  with  evil,  if  there  are  any  things  arising  from 
body  or  fortune  deserving  the  name  of  evils.  These  things 
w^ere  said,  which  Antiochus  has  inserted  in  his  books  in 
many  places — that  virtue  itself  was  sufficient  to  make  life 
happy,  but  yet  not  perfectly  happy;  and  that  many  things 
derive  their  names  from  the  predominant  portion  of  them, 
though  they  do  not  include  everything,  as  strength,  health, 
riches,  honor,  and  glory:  which  qualities  are  determined 
by  their  kind,  not  their  number.  Thus  a  happy  life  is  so 
called  from  its  being  so  in  a  great  degree,  even  thougli  it 


172  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

should  fall  short  in  some  point.  To  clear  this  up  is  not 
absolutely  necessary  at  present,  though  it  seems  to  be 
said  without  any  great  consistency;  for  I  cannot  imagine 
what  is  wanting  to  one  that  is  happy  to  make  him  happier, 
for  if  anything  be  wanting  to  him,  he  cannot  be  so  much  as 
happy;  and  as  to  what  they  say,  that  everything  is  named 
and  estimated  from  its  predominant  portion,  that  may  be 
admitted  in  some  things.  But  when  they  allow  three 
kinds  of  evils — when  any  one  is  oppressed  with  every  im- 
aginable evil  of  two  kinds,  being  afflicted  with  adverse 
fortune,  and  having  at  the  same  time  his  body  worn  out 
and  harassed  with  all  sorts  of  pains — shall  we  say  that 
such  a  one  is  but  little  short  of  a  happy  life,  to  say  noth- 
ing about  the  happiest  possible  life? 

IX.  This  is  the  point  which  Theophrastus  w\as  unable 
to  maintain;  for  after  he  had  once  laid  down  the  position 
that  stripes,  torments,  tortures,  the  ruin  of  one's  country, 
banishment,  the  loss  of  children,  had  great  influence  on 
men's  living  miserably  and  unhappily,  he  durst  not  any 
longer  use  any  high  and  lofty  expressions  when  he  was  so 
low  and  abject  in  his  opinion.  How^  right  he  w^as  is  not 
the  question ;  he  certainly  was  consistent.  Therefore,  I 
am  not  for  objecting  to  consequences  where  the  premises 
are  admitted.  But  this  most  elegant  and  learned  of  all 
the  philosophers  is  not  taken  to  task  very  severely  when 
he  asserts  his  three  kinds  of  good;  but  he  is  attacked  by 
every  one  for  that  book  which  he  wrote  on  a  happy  life, 
in  which  book  he  has  many  arguments  why  one  who  is 
tortured  and  racked  cannot  be  happy.  For  in  that  book 
he  is  supposed  to  say  that  a  man  who  is  placed  on  the 
wheel  (that  is  a  kind  of  torture  in  use  among  the  Greeks) 
cannot  attain  to  a  completely  happy  life.  He  nowhere,  in- 
deed, says  so  absolutely ;  but  what  he  says  amounts  to  the 
same  thing.  Can  I,  then,  find  fault  with  him,  after  having 
allowed  that  pains  of  the  body  are  evils,  that  the  ruin  of  a 
man's  fortunes  is  an  evil,  if  lie  should  say  that  every  good 
man  is  not  happy,  when  all  those  things  which  he  reckons 
as  evils  may  befall  a  good  man  ?  The  same  Theophrastus  is 
found  fault  with  by  all  the  books  and  schools  of  the  philos* 
oi)hers  for  commending  that  sentence  in  his  Callisthenes, 

Fortune,  not  wisdom,  rules  the  life  of  man. 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       11 S 

They  say  never  did  philosopher  assert  anything  so  lan- 
guid. They  are  right,  indeed,  in  that;  but  I  do  not  ap- 
prehend anything  could  be  more  consistent,  for  if  there 
are  so  many  good  things  that  depend  on  the  body,  and 
so  many  foreign  to  it  that  depend  on  chance  and  fortune, 
is  it  inconsistent  to  say  that  fortune,  which  governs  every- 
thing, both  what  is  foreign  and  what  belongs  to  the  body, 
has  greater  power  than  counsel.  Or  would  we  rather  im- 
itate Epicurus  ?  who  is  often  excellent  in  many  things 
which  he  speaks,  but  quite  indifferent  how  consistent  he 
may  be,  or  how  much  to  the  purpose  he  is  speaking.  He 
commends  spare  diet,  and  in  that  he  speaks  as  a  philoso- 
pher ;  but  it  is  for  Socrates  or  Antisthenes  to  say  so,  and 
not  for  one  who  confines  all  good  to  pleasure.  He  denies 
that  any  one  can  live  pleasantly  unless  he  lives  honestly, 
wisely,  and  justly.  Nothing  is  more  dignified  than  this 
assertion,  nothing  more  becoming  a  philosopher,  had  he 
not  measured  this  very  expression  of  living  honestly,  just- 
ly, and  wisely  by  pleasure.  What  could  be  better  than 
to  assert  that  fortune  interferes  but  little  with  a  wise 
man  ?  But  does  he  talk  thus,  who,  after  he  has  said  that 
pain  is  the  greatest  evil,  or  the  only  evil,  might  himself 
be  afflicted  with  the  sharpest  pains  all  over  his  body,  even 
at  the  time  he  is  vaunting  himself  the  most  against  fort- 
une? And  this  very  thing,  too,  Metrodorus  has  said,  but 
in  better  language:  "I  have  anticipated  you.  Fortune;  I 
have  caught  you,  and  cut  off  every  access,  so  that  you 
cannot  possibly  reach  me."  This  would  be  excellent  in 
the  mouth  of  Aristo  the  Chian,  or  Zeno  the  Stoic,  who 
held  nothing  to  be  an  evil  but  what  was  base;  but  for 
you,  Metrodorus,  to  anticipate  the  approaches  of  fortune, 
who  confine  all  that  is  good  to  your  bowels  and  mar- 
row— for  you  to  say  so,  w^ho  define  the  chief  good  by  a 
strong  constitution  of  body,  and  well-assured  hope  of  its 
continuance — for  you  to  cut  off  every  access  of  fortune ! 
Why,  you  may  instantly  be  deprived  of  that  good.  Yet 
the  simple  are  taken  with  these  propositions,  and  a  vast 
crowd  is  led  away  by  such  sentences  to  become  their  fol- 
lowers. 

X.  But  it  is  the  duty  of  one  who  would  argue  accu- 
rately to  consider  not  what  is  said,  but  what  is  said  con- 


174  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

sistently.  As  in  that  very  opinion  which  we  have  adopted 
iu  this  discussion,  namely,  that  every  good  man  is  always 
happy,  it  is  clear  what  I  mean  by  good  men :  I  call  those 
both  wise  and  good  men  who  are  provided  and  adorned 
with  every  virtue.  Let  us  see,  then,  who  are  to  be  called 
happy.  I  imagine,  indeed,  that  those  men  are  to  be  call- 
ed so  who  are  possessed  of  good  without  any  alloy  of 
evil;  nor  is  there  any  other  notion  connected  with  the 
word  that  expresses  happiness  but  an  absolute  enjoyment 
of  good  without  any  evil.  Virtue  cannot  attain  this,  if 
there  is  anything  good  besides  itself.  For  a  crowd  of 
evils  would  present  themselves,  if  we  were  to  allow  pov- 
erty, obscurity,  humility,  solitude,  the  loss  of  friends, 
acute  pains  of  the  body,  the  loss  of  health,  weakness, 
blindness,  the  ruin  of  one's  country,  banishment,  slavery, 
to  be  evils;  for  a  wise  man  may  be  affticted  by  all  these 
evils,  numerous  and  important  as  they  are,  and  many 
others  also  may  be  added,  for  they  are  brought  on  by 
chance, which  may  attack  a  wise  man;  but  if  these  things 
are  evils,  who  can  maintain  that  a  wise  man  is  always 
happy  when  all  these  evils  may  light  on  him  at  the  same 
time?  I  therefore  do  not  easily  agree  with  my  friend 
Brutus,  nor  with  our  common  masters,  nor  those  ancient 
ones,  Aristotle,  Speusippus,  Xenocrates,  Polemon,  who 
reckon  all  that  I  have  mentioned  above  as  evils,  and  yet 
they  say  that  a  wise  man  is  always  happy;  nor  can  I  al- 
low them,  because  they  are  charmed  with  this  beautiful 
and  illustrious  title,  which  would  very  well  become  Py- 
thagoras, Socrates,  and  Plato,  to  persuade  my  mind  that 
strength,  health,  beauty,  riches,  honors,  power,  with  the 
beauty  of  which  they  are  ravished,  are  contemptible,  and 
that  all  those  things  which  are  the  opposites  of  these  are 
not  to  be  regarded.  Then  might  they  declare  openly, 
with  a  loud  voice,  that  neither  the  attacks  of  fortune,  nor 
the  opinion  of  the  multitude,  nor  pain,  nor  poverty,  occa- 
sions them  any  apprehensions ;  and  that  they  have  every- 
thing within  themselves,  and  that  there  is  nothing  what- 
ever which  they  consider  as  good  but  what  is  within  their 
own  power.  Nor  can  I  by  any  means  allow  the  same  per- 
son who  falls  into  the  vulgar  opinion  of  good  and  evil 
to  make  use  of  these  expressions,  which  can  only  become 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       175 

a  great  and  exalted  man.  Struck  with  which  glory,  up 
starts  Epicurus,  who,  with  submission  to  the  Gods,  thinks 
a  wise  man  always  happy.  He  is  much  charmed  with  the 
dignity  of  this  opinion,  but  he  never  would  have  owned 
that,  had  he  attended  to  himself;  for  what  is  there  more 
inconsistent  than  for  one  who  could  say  tliat  pain  was 
the  greatest  or  the  only  evil  to  think  also  that  a  wise  man 
can  possibly  say  in  the  midst  of  his  torture.  How  sweet 
is  this !  We  are  not,  therefore,  to  form  our  judgment 
of  philosophers  from  detached  sentences,  but  from  their 
consistency  with  themselves,  and  their  ordinary  manner  of 
talking. 

XI.  A.  You  compel  me  to  be  of  your  opinion ;  but  have 
a  care  that  you  are  not  inconsistent  yourself. 

31.  In  what  respect? 

A.  Because  I  have  lately  read  your  fourth  book  on 
Good  and  Evil:  and  in  that  you  appeared  to  me,  while 
disputing  against  Cato,  to  be  endeavoring  to  show,  which 
in  my  opinion  means  to  prove,  that  Zeno  and  the  Pei'ipa- 
tetics  differ  only  about  some  new  words ;  but  if  we  allow 
that,  what  reason  can  there  be,  if  it  follows  from  the  argu- 
ments of  Zeno  that  virtue  contains  all  that  is  necessary  to 
a  happy  life,  that  the  Peripatetics  should  not  be  at  liberty 
to  say  the  same  ?  For,  in  my  opinion,  regard  should  be 
had  to  the  thing,  not  to  words. 

31.  What !  you  would  convict  me  from  my  own  words, 
and  bring  against  me  what  I  had  said  or  written  else- 
where. You  may  act  in  that  manner  with  those  who  dis- 
pute by  established  rules.  We  live  from  hand  to  mouth, 
and  say  anything  that  strikes  our  mind  with  probability, 
so  that  we  are  tlie  only  people  who  are  really  at  liberty. 
But,  since  I  just  now  spoke  of  consistency,  I  do  not  think 
the  inquiry  in  this  place  is,  if  tlie  opinion  of  Zeno  and  his 
pupil  Aristo  be  true  that  nothing  is  good  but  what  is  hon- 
orable; but,  admitting  that,  then,  whether  the  whole  of  a 
happy  life  can  be  rested  on  virtue  alone.  Wherefore,  if 
we  certainly  grant  Brutus  this,  that  a  wise  man  is  always 
happy,  how  consistent  he  is,  is  his  own  business;  for  who, 
indeed,  is  more  worthy  than  himself  of  the  glory  of  that 
opinion  ?  Still,  we  may  maintain  that  such  a  man  is  more 
happy  than  any  one  else. 


IVG  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

XII.  Though  Zeno  the  Cittioeaii,  n  stranger  and  an  incon. 
siderable  coiner  of  words,  appears  to  have  insinuated  liini- 
self  into  the  old  philosophy ;  still,  the  prevalence  of  this 
opinion  is  due  to  the  authority  of  Plato,  who  often  makes 
use  of  this  expression, "  That  nothing  but  virtue  can  be 
entitled  to  the  name  of  good,"  agreeably  to  what  Socrates 
says  in  Plato's  Gorgias;  for  it  is  there  related  that  when 
some  one  asked  him  if  he  did  not  think  Archelaus  the  son 
of  Perdiccas,  who  was  then  looked  upon  as  a  most  fortu- 
nate person,  a  very  happy  man,  "I  do  not  know,"  replied 
he,  "for  I  never  conversed  with  him."  "What!  is  there 
no  other  way  you  can  know  it  by?"  "None  at  all." 
"  You  cannot,  then,  pronounce  of  the  great  king  of  the 
Persians  whether  he  is  happy  or  not?"  "How  cnn  I, 
when  I  do  not  know  how  learned  or  how  good  a  man  he 
is?"  "What!  do  you  imagine  that  a  happy  life  depends 
on  that?"  "My  opinion  entirely  is,  that  good  men  are 
happy,  and  the  wicked  miserable."  "  Is  Archelaus,  then, 
miserable?"  "  Certainly,  if  unjust."  Now,  dees  it  not 
appear  to  you  that  he  is  here  placing  the  whole  of  a  hap- 
py life  in  virtue  alone?  But  what  does  the  same  man  say 
in  his  funeral  oration  ?  "  For,"  saith  he,  "  whoever  has 
everything  that  relates  to  a  happy  life  so  entirely  depend- 
ent on  himself  as  not  to  be  connected  with  tlie  good  or 
bad  fortune  of  another,  and  not  to  be  affected  by,  or  made 
in  any  degree  uncertain  by,  what  befalls  another;  and 
whoever  is  such  a  one  has  acquired  the  best  rule  of  living; 
he  is  that  moderate,  that  brave,  that  wise  man,  wdio  sub- 
mits to  the  gain  and  loss  of  everything,  and  especially  of 
his  children,  and  obeys  that  old  precept;  for  he  will  never 
be  too  joyful  or  too  sad,  because  he  depends  entirely  upon 
himself." 

XIII.  From  Plato,  therefore,  all  my  discourse  shall  be 
deduced,  as  if  from  some  sacred  and  hallowed  fountain. 
Whence  can  I,  then,  more  properly  begin  than  from  Nat- 
ure, the  parent  of  all?  For  whatsoever  she  produces  (I 
am  not  speaking  only  of  animals,  but  even  of  those  things 
which  have  sprung  from  the  earth  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
rest  on  their  own  roots)  she  designed  it  to  be  perfect  in 
its  respective  kind.  So  that  among  trees  and  vines,  and 
those  lower  plants  and  trees  which  cannot  advance  them- 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUEEICIENT.       177 

selves  high  above  the  earth,  some  are  evergreen,  others 
are  stripped  of  their  leaves  in  winter,  and,  warmed  by  the 
spring  season,  put  them  out  afresh,  and  there  are  none  of 
them  but  what  are  so  quickened  by  a  certain  interior  mo- 
tion, and  their  own  seeds  enclosed  in  every  one,  so  as  to 
yield  flowers,  fruit,  or  berries,  that  all  may  have  every  -pev- 
fection  that  belongs  to  it;  provided  no  violence  prevents 
it.  But  the  force  of  Nature  itself  may  be  more  easily  dis- 
covered in  animals,  as  she  has  bestowed  sense  on  them. 
For  some  animals  she  has  taught  to  swim,  and  designed 
to  be  inhabitants  of  the  water ;  others  she  has  enabled  to 
fly,  and  has  willed  that  they  should  enjoy  the  boundless 
air ;  some  others  she  has  made  to  creep,  others  to  walk. 
Again,  of  these  very  animals,  some  are  solitary,  some  gre- 
garious, some  wild,  others  tame,  some  hidden  and  buried 
beneath  the  earth,  and  every  one  of  these  maintains  the  law 
of  nature,  confining  itself  to  what  w^as  bestowed  on  it,  and 
unable  to  change  its  manner  of  life.  And  as  every  ani- 
mal has  from  nature  something  that  distinguishes  it,  which 
every  one  maintains  and  never  quits ;  so  man  has  some- 
thing far  more  excellent,  though  everything  is  said  to  be 
excellent  by  comparison.  But  the  human  mind,  being  de- 
rived from  the  divine  reason,  can  be  compared  with  noth- 
ing but  with  the  Deity  itself,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  ex- 
pression. This,  then,  if  it  is  improved,  and  when  its  per- 
ception is  so  preserved  as  not  to  be  blinded  by  errors,  be- 
comes a  perfect  understanding,  that  is  to  say,  absolute  rea- 
son, which  is  the  very  same  as  virtue.  And  if  everything 
is  happy  which  wants  nothing,  and  is  complete  and  perfect 
in  its  kind,  and  that  is  tlie  peculiar  lot  of  virtue,  certainly 
all  who  are  possessed  of  virtue  are  happy.  And  in  this 
I  agree  with  Brutus,  and  also  with  xVristotle,  Xenocrates, 
Speusippus,  Polemon. 

XIV.  To  me  such  are  the  only  men  who  appear  com- 
pletely happy ;  for  what  can  he  want  to  a  complete  happy 
life  who  relies  on  his  own  good  qualities,  or  how  can  he  be 
happy  who  does  not  rely  on  them  ?  But  he  who  makes  a 
threefold  division  of  goods  must  necessarily  be  difiident, 
for  how  can  he  depend  on  having  a  sound  body,  or  that 
his  fortune  shall  continue?  But  no  one  can  be  happy  with- 
out  an    immovable,  fixed,  and   permanent   good.     What, 

8* 


178  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

then,  is  this  opinion  of  theirs  ?  So  that  I  think  that  say- 
ing of  the  Spartan  may  be  applied  to  them,  who,  on  some 
merchant's  boasting  before  him  that  he  had  despatched 
ships  to  every  maritime  coast,  repUed  that  a  fortune  which 
depended  on  ropes  was  not  very  desirable.  Can  there  be 
any  doubt  that  whatever  may  be  lost  cannot  be  properly 
classed  in  the  number  of  those  things  which  complete  a 
happy  life  ?  for  of  all  that  constitutes  a  happy  life,  noth- 
ing will  admit  of  withering,  or  growing  old,  or  wearing 
out,  or  decaying;  for  whoever  is  apprehensive  of  any  loss 
of  these  things  cannot  be  happy :  the  happy  man  should 
be  safe,  well  fenced,  well  fortified,  out  of  the  reach  of  all 
annoyance,  not  like  a  man  under  trifling  apprehensions, 
but  free  from  all  such.  As  he  is  not  called  innocent  who 
but  sliglitly  offends,  but  he  who  offends  not  at  all,  so  it. is 
he  alone  who  is  to  be  considered  without  fear  who  is  free 
from  all  fear,  not  he  who  is  but  in  little  fear.  For  what 
else  is  courage  but  an  affection  of  mind  that  is  ready  to 
undergo  perils,  and  patient  in  the  endurance  of  pain  and 
labor  without  any  alloy  of  fear  ?  Now,  this  certainly  could 
not  be  the  case  if  there  were  anything  else  good  but  what 
depended  on  honesty  alone.  But  how  can  any  one  be  in 
possession  of  that  desirable  and  much-coveted  security  (for 
I  now  call  a  freedom  from  anxiety  a  security,  on  which 
freedom  a  happy  life  depends)  who  has,  or  may  have,  a 
multitude  of  evils  attending  him  ?  How  can  he  be  brave 
and  undaunted,  and  hold  everything  as  trifles  which  can 
befall  a  man?  for  so  a  wise  man  should  do, unless  he  be  one 
who  thinks  that  everything  depends  on  himself.  Could 
the  Lacedaemonians  without  this,  when  Philip  threatened 
to  prevent  all  their  attempts,  have  asked  him  if  he  could 
prevent  their  killing  themselves?  Is  it  not  easier,  then, 
to  find  one  man  of  such  a  spirit  as  we  are  inquiring  after, 
than  to  meet  with  a  whole  city  of  such  men  ?  Now,  if  to 
this  courage  I  am  speaking  of  we  add  temperance,  that  it 
may  govern  all  our  feelings  and  agitations,  what  can  be 
wanting  to  complete  his  happiness  who  is  secured  by  his 
courage  from  uneasiness  and  fear,  and  is  prevented  from 
immoderate  desires  and  immoderate  insolence  of  joy  by 
temperance?     I  could  easily  show  that  virtue  is  able  to 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       179 

produce  these  effects,  but  that  I  have  explained  on  the 
foregoing  days. 

XV.  But  as  the  perturbations  of  the  mind  make  life 
miserable,  and  tranquillity  renders  it  happy;  and  as  these 
perturbations  are  of  two  sorts,  grief  and  fear,  proceeding 
from  imagined  evils,  and  as  immoderate  joy  and  lust  arise 
from  a  mistake  about  what  is  good,  and  as  all  these  feel- 
ings are  in  opposition  to  reason  and  counsel;  when  you 
see  a  man  at  ease,  quite  free  and  disengaged  from  such 
troublesome  commotions,  which  are  so  much  at  variance 
with  one  another,  can  you  hesitate  to  pronounce  such  a 
one  a  happy  man?  Now,  the  wise  man  is  always  in  such 
a  disposition ;  therefore  the  wise  man  is  always  happy. 
Besides,  every  good  is  pleasant ;  whatever  is  pleasant  may 
be  boasted  and  talked  of ;  whatever  may  be  boasted  of  is 
glorious;  but  whatever  is  glorious  is  certainly  laudable, 
and  whatever  is  laudable  doubtless,  also,  honorable :  what- 
ever, then,  is  good  is  honorable  (but  the  things  which 
they  reckon  as  goods  they  themselves  do  not  call  honor- 
able) ;  therefore  what  is  honorable  alone  is  good.  Hence 
it  follows  that  a  happy  life  is  comprised  in  honesty  alone. 
Such  things,  then,  are  not  to  be  called  or  considered  goods, 
when  a  man  may  enjoy  an  abundance  of  them,  and  yet  be 
most  miserable.  Is  there  any  doubt  but  that  a  man  who 
enjoys  the  best  health,  and  who  has  strength  and  beauty, 
and  his  senses  flourishing  in  their  utmost  quickness  and 
perfection — suppose  him  likewise,  if  you  please,  nimble  and 
active,  nay,  give  him  riches,  honors,  autliority,  power,  glo- 
ry— now,  I  say,  should  this  person,  who  is  in  possession  of 
all  these,  be  unjust,  intemperate,  timid,  stupid,  or  an  idiot 
— could  you  hesitate  to  call  such  a  one  miserable?  What, 
then,  are  those  goods  in  the  possession  of  which  you  may 
be  very  miserable?  Let  us  see  if  a  happy  life  is  not  made 
up  of  parts  of  the  same  nature,  as  a  heap  implies  a  quan- 
tity of  grain  of  the  same  kind.  And  if  this  be  once  ad- 
mitted, happiness  must  be  compounded  of  different  good 
things,  which  alone  are  honorable;  if  there  is  any  mixture 
of  things  of  another  sort  with  these,  nothing  honorable  can 
proceed  from  such  a  composition :  now,  take  away  hones- 
ty, and  how  can  you  imagine  anything  happy?  For  what- 
ever is  good  is  desirable  on  that  account;  w^hatevev  is  de- 


180  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

sirable  must  certainly  be  approved  of;  whatever  you  ap 
prove  of  must  be  looked  on  as  acceptable  and  welcome. 
You  must  consequently  impute  dignity  to  this;  and  if  so, 
it  must  necessarily  be  laudable:  thc'refore,  everything  that 
is  laudable  is  good.  Hence  it  follows  that  what  is  honor- 
able is  the  only  good.  And  should  we  not  look  upon  it 
in  this  light,  there  will  be  a  great  many  things  which  we 
must  call  good. 

XVI.  I  forbear  to  mention  riches,  whicli,  as  any  one,  let 
him  be  ever  so  unworthy,  may  have  them,  I  do  not  reckon 
among  goods ;  for  what  is  good  is  not  attainable  by  all.  I 
pass  over  notoriety  and  popular  fame,  raised  by  the  united 
voice  of  knaves  and  fools.  Even  things  which  are  abso- 
lute nothings  may  be  called  goods;  such  as  white  teeth, 
handsome  eyes,  a  good  complexion,  and  what  was  com- 
mended by  Euryclea,  when  she  was  washing  Ulysses's  feet, 
the  softness  of  his  skin  and  the  mildness  of  his  discourse. 
If  you  look  on  these  as  goods,  what  greater  encomiums  can 
the  gravity  of  a  philosopher  be  entitled  to  than  the  wild 
opinion  of  the  vulgar  and  the  thoughtless  crowd?*  The 
Stoics  give  the  name  of  excellent  and  choice  to  what  the 
others  call  good :  they  call  them  so,  indeed ;  but  they  do 
not  allow  them  to  complete  a  happy  life.  But  these  oth- 
ers think  that  there  is  no  life  liappy  without  them;  or,  ad- 
mitting it  to  be  happy,  they  deny  it  to  be  the  most  happy. 
But  our  opinion  is, that  it  is  the  most  happy;  and  we  prove 
it  from  that  conclusion  of  Socrates.  For  thus  that  author 
of  philosophy  argued  :  that  as  the  disposition  of  a  man's 
mind  is,  so  is  the  man;  such  as  the  man  is,  such  will  be 
his  discourse;  his  actions  will  correspond  with  his  dis- 
course, and  his  life  with  his  actions.  But  the  disposition 
of  a  good  man's  mind  is  laudable;  the  life,  therefore,  of  a 
good  man  is  laudable;  it  is  honorable,  therefore,  because 
laudable ;  the  unavoidable  conclusion  from  Avhicli  is  that 
the  life  of  good  men  is  happy.  For,  good  Gods!  did  I 
not  make  it  appear,  by  my  former  arguments — or  was  I 
only  amusing  myself  and  killing  time  in  what  I  then  said  ? 
— that  the  mind  of  a  wise  man  was  always  free  from  every 
hasty  motion  which  I  call  a  perturbation,  and  that  the  most 
undisturbed  peace  always  reigned  in  his  breast?  A  man, 
then,  who  is  temperate  and  consistent,  free  from  fear  or 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       181 

grief,  and  uninfluenced  by  any  immoderate  joy  or  desire, 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  happy ;  but  a  wise  man  is  always 
so,  therefore  he  is  always  happy.  Moreover,  how  can  a 
good  man  avoid  referring  all  his  actions  and  all  his  feel- 
ings to  the  one  standard  of  whether  or  not  it  is  laudable  ? 
But  he  does  refer  everything  to  the  object  of  living  hap- 
pily: it  follows,  then,  that  a  happy  life  is  laudable;  but 
nothing  is  laudable  without  virtue:  a  happy  life,  then,  is 
the  consequence  of  virtue.  And  this  is  the  unavoidable 
conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  these  arguments. 

XVII.  A  wicked  life  has  nothing  which  we  ought  to 
speak  of  or  glory  in ;  nor  has  that  life  which  is  neither 
happy  nor  miserable.  But  there  is  a  kind  of  life  that  ad- 
mits of  being  spoken  of,  and  gloried  in,  and  boasted  of,  as 
Eparainondas  saith. 

The  wings  ot  Sparta's  pride  ui y  counsels  clipp'd. 

And  Africanus  boasts. 

Who,  from  beyond  Maiotis  to  the  place 
Where  the  sua  rises,  deeds  like  mine  can  trace  ? 

If,  then,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  happy  life,  it  is  to  be 
gloried  in,  spoken  of,  and  commended  by  the  person  who 
enjoys  it;  for  there  is  nothing  excepting  that  which  cnn 
be  spoken  of  or  gloried  in ;  and  when  that  is  once  admit- 
ted, you  know  what  follows.  Now,  unless  an  honorable 
life  is  a  happy  life,  there  must,  of  course,  be  something 
preferable  to  a  happy  life ;  for  that  which  is  honorable  all 
men  will  certainly  grant  to  be  preferable  to  anything  else. 
And  thus  there  will  be  something  better  than  a  happy  life : 
but  what  can  be  more  absurd  than  such  an  assertion  ? 
What !  when  they  grant  vice  to  be  effectual  to  the  render- 
ing life  miserable,  must  they  not  admit  that  there  is  a  cor- 
responding power  in  virtue  to  make  life  happy  ?  For  con- 
traries follow  from  contraries.  And  here' I  ask  what 
weight  they  think  there  is  in  the  balance  of  Critolaus,  who 
having  put  the  goods  of  the  mind  into  one  scale,  and  the 
goods  of  the  body  and  other  external  advantages  into  the 
other,  thought  the  goods  of  the  mind  outweighed  the  oth- 
ers so  far  that  they  would  require  the  whole  earth  and  sea 
to  equalize  the  scale. 


182  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

XVIII.  What  hinders  Ci-itolaus,  then,  or  that  gravest 
of  philosophers,  Xenocrates  (who  raises  virtue  so  high,  and 
who  lessens  and  depreciates  everything  else),  from  not 
only  placing  a  happy  life,  but  the  happiest  possible  life, 
in  virtue?  And,  indeed,  if  this  were  not  the  case,  virtue 
would  be  absolutely  lost.  For  whoever  is  subject  to  grief 
must  necessarily  be  subject  to  fear  too,  for  fear  is  an  un- 
easy apprehension  of  future  grief ;  and  whoever  is  subject 
to  fear  is  liable  to  dread,  timidity,  consternation,  coward- 
ice. Therefore,  such  a  person  may,  some  time  or  other,  be 
defeated,  and  not  think  himself  concerned  with  that  pre- 
cept of  Atreus, 

And  let  men  so  conduct  themselves  in  life, 
As  to  be  iilwiijs  strangers  to  defeat. 

But  such  a  man,  as  I  have  said,  will  be  defeated;  and  not 
only  defeated,  but  made  a  slave  of.  But  we  would  liave 
virtue  always  free,  always  invincible;  and  were  it  not  so, 
there  would  be  an  end  of  virtue.  But  if  virtue  has  in  her- 
self all  that  is  necessary  for  a  good  life,  she  is  certainly 
sufficient  for  happiness :  virtue  is  certainly  sufficient,  too, 
for  our  living  with  courage ;  if  with  courage,  then  with  a 
magnanimous  spirit,  and  indeed  so  as  never  to  be  under 
any  fear,  and  thus  to  be  always  invincible.  Hence  it  fol- 
lows that  there  can  be  nothing  to  be  repented  of,  no  wants, 
no  lets  or  hinderances.  Thus  all  things  will  be  prosper- 
ous, perfect,  and  as  you  would  have  them,  and,  consequent- 
ly, happy ;  but  virtue  is  sufficient  for  living  with  courage, 
and  therefore  virtue  is  able  by  herself  to  make  life  happy. 
For  as  folly,  even  when  possessed  of  what  it  desires,  never 
thinks  it  has  acquired  enough,  so  wisdom  is  always  satisfied 
with  the  present,  and  never  repents  on  her  own  account. 

XIX.  Look  but  on  the  single  consulship  of  Laslius,  and 
that,  too,  after  having  been  set  aside  (though  when  a  wise 
and  good  man  like  him  is  outvoted,  the  people  are  disap- 
pointed of  a  good  consul,  rather  than  he  disappointed  by 
a  vain  people) ;  but  the  point  is,  would  you  prefer,  were  it 
in  your  power,  to  be  once  such  a  consul  as  Laslius,  or  be 
elected  four  times,  like  Cinna?  I  have  no  doubt  in  the 
world  what  answer  you  will  make,  and  it  is  on  that  account 
I  put  the  question  to  you. 


WHETHER.  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       183 

I  would  not  ask  every  one  this  question ;  for  some  one 
perhaps  might  answer  that  he  would  not  only  prefer  four 
consulates  to  one,  but  even  one  day  of  Cinna's  life  to  whole 
ages  of  many  famous  men.  Laelius  would  have  suffered 
had  he  but  touched  any  one  with  his  finger;  but  Cinna 
ordered  the  head  of  his  colleague  consul,  Cn.  Octavius,  to 
be  struck  off ;  and  put  to  death  P.  Crassus,*  and  L.  Cae- 
sar,^ those  excellent  men,  so  renowned  both  at  home  and 
abroad  ;  and  even  M.  Antonius,^  the  greatest  orator  whom 
I  ever  heard  ;  and  C.  Caesar,  who  seems  to  me  to  have  been 
the  pattern  of  humanity,  politeness,  sweetness  of  temper, 
and  wit.  Could  he,  then,  be  happy  who  occasioned  the 
death  of  these  men  ?  So  far  from  it,  that  he  seems  to  be 
miserable,  not  only  for  having  performed  these  actions,  but 
also  for  acting  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  lawful  for  him 
to  do  it,  though  it  is  unlawful  for  any  one  to  do  wicked 
actions;  but  this  proceeds  from  inaccuracy  of  speech,  for 
we  call  whatever  a  man  is  allowed  to  do  lawful.  Was  not 
Marius  happier,  I  pray  you,  when  he  shared  the  glory  of 
the  victory  gained  over  the  Cimbrians  with  his  colleague 
Catulus  (who  was  almost  another  Lcelius  ;  for  I  look  upon 
the  two  men  as  very  like  one  another),  than  when,  conquer- 
or in  the  civil  war,  he  in  a  passion  answered  the  friends 
of  Catulus,  who  were  interceding  for  him, "Let  him  die?" 
And  this  answer  he  gave,  not  once  only,  but  often.  But 
in  such  a  case,  he  was  happier  who  submitted  to  that  bar- 
barous decree  than  he  who  issued  it.  And  it  is  better  to 
receive  an  injury  than  to  do  one;  and  so  it  was  better  to 
advance  a  little  to  meet  that  death  that  was  making  its 
approaches,  as  Catulus  did,  than,  like  Marius,  to  sully  the 
jglory  of  six  consulships,  and  disgrace  his  latter  days,  by 
the  death  of  such  a  man. 

XX.  Dionysius  exercised  his  tyranny  over  the  Syracu- 
sans  thirty -eight  years,  being  but  twenty -five  years  old 

*  This  was  the  elder  brother  of  the  triumvir  Marcus  Crassus,  87  k.c. 
He  was  put  to  death  by  Fimbria,  who  was  in  command  of  some  of  ihe 
troops  of  Marius. 

^  Lucius  Cffisar  and  Caius  Casar  were  relations  (it  is  uncertain  in 
what  degree)  of  the  great  Caasar,  and  were  killed  by  Fimbria  on  the  same 
occasion  as  Octavius. 

^  M.  Antonius  was  the  grandfather  of  the  triumvir  ;  he  was  murdered 
the  same  year,  87  B.C.,  by  Annius,  when  INfarius  and  Cinna  took  Kome. 


184  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

when  he  seized  on  the  government.  How  beautiful  and 
how  wealthy  a  city  did  he  oppress  with  shivery  !  And  yet 
we  have  it  from  good  authority  that  he  was  remarkably 
temperate  in  his  manner  of  living,  that  he  was  very  active 
and  energetic  in  carrying  on  business,  but  naturally  mis- 
chievous and  unjust;  from  which  description  every  one 
who  diligently  inquires  into  truth  must  inevitably  see  that 
he  was  very  miserable.  Neither  did  he  attain  what  he  so 
greatly  desired,  even  when  he  was  persuaded  that  he  had 
unlimited  power;  for,  notwithstanding  he  was  of  a  good 
family  and  reputable  parents  (though  that  is  contested  by 
some  authors),  and  had  a  very  large  acquaintance  of  inti- 
mate friends  and  relations,  and  also  some  youths  attached 
to  him  by  ties  of  love  after  the  fasliion  of  the  Greeks,  he 
could  not  trust  any  one  of  them,  but  committed  the  guard 
of  his  person  to  slaves,  whom  he  had  selected  from  rich 
men's  families  and  made  free,  and  to  strangers  and  barba- 
rians. And  thus,  through  an  unjust  desire  of  governing, 
he  in  a  manner  shut  himself  up  in  a  prison.  Besides,  he 
would  not  trust  his  throat  to  a  barber,  but  had  his  daugh- 
ters taught  to  shave;  so  that  these  royal  virgins  were 
forced  to  descend  to  the  base  and  slavish  employment  of 
shaving  the  head  and  beard  of  their  father.  Nor  would 
he  trust  even  them,  when  they  were  grown  up,  with  a  razor; 
but  contrived  how  they  might  burn  off  the  hair  of  his  head 
and  beard  with  red-hot  nutshells.  And  as  to  his  two  wives, 
Aristomache,  his  countrywoman,  and  Doris  of  Locris,  he 
never  visited  them  at  night  before  everything  had  been 
well  searched  and  examined.  And  as  he  had  surrounded 
the  place  where  his  bed  was  with  a  broad  ditch,  and  made 
a  way  over  it  with  a  wooden  brid<^e,  he  drew  that  bridge 
over  after  shutting  his  bedchamber  door.  And  as  he  did 
not  dare  to  stand  on  the  ordinary  pulpits  from  which  they 
usually  harangued  the  people,  he  generally  addressed  them 
from  a  high  tower.  And  it  is  said  that  when  he  was  dis- 
posed to  play  at  ball — for  he  delighted  much  in  it — and 
had  pulled  oft  his  clothes,  lie  used  to  give  his  sword  into 
the  keeping  of  a  young  man  whom  he  was  very  fond  of. 
On  this,  one  of  his  intimates  said  pleasantly, "  You  certain- 
ly trust  your  life  with  him ;"  and  as  the  young  man  hap- 
pened to  smile  at  this,  he  ordered  them  both  to  be  slain^ 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       185 

the  one  for  showing  how  he  might  be  taken  off,  the  other 
for  approving  of  what  had  been  said  by  smiling.  But  he 
was  so  concerned  at  what  he  had  done  tliat  nothing  affect- 
ed him  more  during  his  whole  life ;  for  he  had  slain  one 
to  whom  he  was  extremely  partial.  Thus  do  weak  men's 
desires  pull  them  different  ways,  and  while  they  indulge 
one,  they  act  counter  to  another. 

XXI.  This  tyrant,  however,  showed  himself  how  happy 
he  really  was ;  for  once,  when  Damocles,  one  of  his  flatter- 
ers, was  dilating  in  conversation  on  his  forces,  his  wealth, 
the  greatness  of  his  j)Ower,  the  plenty  he  enjoyed,  the 
grandeur  of  his  royal  palaces,  and  maintaining  that  no 
one  was  ever  happier, "  Have  you  an  inclination,"  said  he, 
"  Damocles,  as  this  kind  of  life  pleases  you,  to  have  a  taste 
of  it  yourself,  and  to  make  a  trial  of  the  good  fortune  that 
attends  me?"  And  when  he  said  that  he  should  like  it 
extremely,  Dionysius  ordered  him  to  be  laid  on  a  bed  of 
gold  with  the  most  beautiful  covering,  embroidered  and 
wrought  with  the  most  exquisite  w^ork,  and  he  dressed  out 
a  great  many  sideboards  with  silver  and  embossed  gold. 
He  then  ordered  some  youths,  distinguished  for  their  hand- 
some persons,  to  wait  at  his  table,  and  to  observe  his  nod, 
in  order  to  serve  him  with  what  he  wanted.  There  were 
ointments  and  garlands;  perfumes  were  burned;  tables  pro- 
vided with  the  most  exquisite  meats.  Damocles  thought 
himself  very  happy.  In  the  midst  of  this  apparatus,  Dio- 
nysius ordered  a  bright  sword  to  be  let  down  from  the 
ceiling,  suspended  by  a  single  horse -hair,  so  as  to  hang 
over  tlie  head  of  that  happy  man.  After  which  he  neither 
cast  his  eye  on  those  handsome  waiters,  nor  on  the  well- 
wrought  plate ;  nor  touched  any  of  the  provisions :  pres- 
ently the  garlands  fell  to  pieces.  At  last  he  entreated  the 
tyrant  to  give  him  leave  to  go,  for  that  now  he  had  no  de- 
sire to  be  happy.^  Does  not  Dionysius,  then,  seem  to  have 
declared  there  can  be  no  happiness  for  one  who  is  under 
constant  apprehensions?     But  it  was  not  now  in  his  pow- 

*  This  story  is  alluded  to  by  Horace : 

Distiictus  ensis  cui  super  impia 
Cervice  penclet  non  Siculae  dapes 
Dulcem  elaborabnnt  saporem, 
Non  avium  citharieve  cautus 
Somunm  reduceut.— iii.  1.  IT. 


186  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

er  to  return  to  justice,  and  restore  his  citizens  their  riglits 
and  privileges;  for,  by  the  indiscretion  of  youth,  he  had 
engaged  in  so  many  wrong  steps  and  committed  sucli  ex- 
travagances, that,  had  he  attempted  to  have  returned  to 
a  right  way  of  thinking,  he  must  have  endangered  his 
life. 

XXII.  Yet,  how  desirous  he  was  of  friendship,  though 
at  the  same  time  he  dreaded  the  treachery  of  friends,  ap- 
pears from  the  story  of  those  two  Pythagoreans:  one  of 
these  had  been  security  for  his  friend,  who  was  condemned 
to  die;  the  other,  to  release  his  security,  presented  himself 
at  the  time  appointed  for  his  dying:  "I  wish,"  said  Dio- 
nysius,  "you  would  admit  me  as  the  third  in  your  friend- 
ship." What  misery  was  it  for  him  to  be  deprived  of  ac- 
quaintance, of  company  at  his  table,  and  of  the  freedom  of 
conversation !  especially  for  one  who  was  a  man  of  learn- 
ing, and  from  his  childhood  acquainted  with  liberal  arts, 
very  fond  of  music,  and  himself  a  tragic  poet — how  good 
a  one  is  not  to  the  purpose,  for  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but 
in  this  way,  more  than  any  other,  every  one  thinks  his  own 
performances  excellent.  I  never  as  yet  knew  any  poet 
(and  I  was  very  intimate  with  Aquinius),  who  did  not  ap- 
pear to  himself  to  be  very  admirable.  The  case  is  this: 
you  are  pleased  with  your  own  works ;  I  like  mine.  But 
to  return  to  Dionysius.  He  debarred  himself  from  all  civ- 
il and  polite  conversation,  and  spent  his  life  among  fugi- 
tives, bondmen,  and  barbarians ;  for  he  was  persuaded  that 
no  one  could  be  his  friend  who  was  worthy  of  liberty,  or 
had  the  least  desire  of  being  free. 

XXIII.  Shall  I  not,  then,  prefer  the  life  of  Plato  and 
Archytas,  manifestly  wise  and  learned  men,  to  his,  than 
which  nothing  can  possibly  be  more  horrid,  or  miserable, 
or  detestable  ? 

I  will  present  you  with  an  humble  and  obscure  mathe- 
matician of  the  same  city,  called  Archimedes,  who  lived 
many  years  after;  whose  tomb,  overgrown  with  shrubs 
and  briers,  I  in  my  qua^storship  discovered,  when  the  Syr- 
acusans  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  even  denied  that  there 
was  any  such  thing  remaining;  for  I  remembered  some 
verses,  which  I  had  been  informed  were  engraved  on  liis 
monument,  and  these  set  forth  that  on  the  top  of  the  tomb 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT       187 

•ere  was  placed  a  sphere  with  a  cylinder.  When  I  had 
irefully  examined  all  the  monuments  (for  there  are  a 
creat  many  tombs  at  the  gate  Acliradinie),  I  observed  a 
•,mall  column  standing  out  a  little  above  the  briers,  with 
he  figure  of  a  sphere  and  a  cylinder  upon  it;,  whereupon 
I  immediately  said  to  the  Syracusans — for  there  were 
some  of  their  principal  men  with  me  there  —  that  I  im- 
agined that  was  what  I  was  inquiring  for.  Several  men, 
being  sent  in  with  scythes,  cleared  the  way,  and  made  an 
opening  for  us.  When  we  could  get  at  it,  and  were  come 
near  to  the  front  of  the  pedestal,  I  found  the  inscription, 
though  the  latter  parts  of  all  the  verses  were  effaced  al- 
most half  away.  Thus  one  of  the  noblest  cities  of  Greece, 
and  one  which  at  one  time  likewise  had  been  very  cele- 
brated for  learning,  had  known  nothing  of  the  monument 
of  its  greatest  genius,  if  it  had  not  been  discovered  to  them 
by  a  native  of  Arpinum.  But  to  return  to  the  subject 
from  which  I  have  been  digressing.  Who  is  there  in  the 
least  degree  acquainted  with  the  Muses,  that  is,  with  lib- 
eral knowledge,  or  that  deals  at  all  in  learning,  who  would 
not  choose  to  be  this  mathematician  rather  than  that  ty- 
rant? If  we  look  into  their  methods  of  living  and  their 
employments,  we  shall  find  the  mind  of  the  one  strength- 
ened and  improved  with  tracing  the  deductions  of  reason, 
amused  with  his  own  ingenuity,  which  is  the  one  most 
delicious  food  of  the  mind;  the  thoughts  of  the  other  en- 
gaged in  continual  murders  and  injuries,  in  constant  fears 
by  night  and  by  day.  Now  imagine  a  Democritus,  a  Py- 
thagoras, and  an  Anaxagoras  ;  what  kingdom,  what  riches, 
would  you  prefer  to  their  studies  and  amusements  ?  For 
you  must  necessarily  look  for  that  excellence  which  we  are 
seeking  for  in  that  which  is  the  most  perfect  part  of  man ; 
but  what  is  there  better  in  man  than  a  sagacious  and  good 
mind  ?  The  enjoyment,  therefore,  of  that  good  which  pro- 
ceeds from  that  sagacious  mind  can  alone  make  us  happy; 
but  virtue  is  the  good  of  the  mind :  it  follows,  therefore, 
that  a  happy  life  depends  on  virtue.  Hence  proceed  all 
things  that  are  beautiful,  honorable,  and  excellent,  as  I  said 
above  (but  this  point  must,  I  think,  be  treated  of  more 
at  large),  and  they  are  well  stored  with  joys.  For,  as  it 
is  clear  that  a  happy  life  consists  in  perpetual  and  unex- 


188  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

hausted  pleasures,  it  follows,  too,  that  a  happy  life  must 
arise  froui  honesty. 

XXIV.  But  tliat  Avhat  I  propose  to  demonstrate  to  you 
may  not  rest  on  mere  words  only,  I  must  set  before  you 
the  picture  of  something,  as  it  were,  living  and  moving  in 
the  world,  that  may  dispose  us  more  for  the  improvement 
of  the  understanding  and  real  knowledge.  Let  us,  then, 
pitch  upon  some  man  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  most 
excellent  arts ;  let  us  present  him  for  awhile  to  our  own 
thoughts,  and  figure  him  to  our  own  imaginations.  In 
the  first  place,  he  must  necessarily  be  of  an  extraordina- 
ry capacity;  for  virtue  is  not  easily  connected  with  dull 
minds.  Secondly,  he  must  have  a  great  desire  of  discover- 
ing truth,  from  whence  will  arise  that  threefold  production 
of^  the  mind ;  one  of  which  depends  on  knowing  things, 
and  explaining  nature;  the  other,  in  definir/g  what  we 
ought  to  desire  and  wl^at  to  avoid;  the  third,  in  judg- 
ing of  consequences  and  impossibilities,  in  which  consists 
both  subtlety  in  disputing  and  also  clearness  of  judgment. 
Now,  with  what  pleasure  must  the  mind  of  a  wise  man 
be  affected  which  continually  dwells  in  the  midst  of  such 
cares  and  occupations  as  these,  when  he  views  the  revo- 
lutions and  motions  of  the  wdiole  world,  and  sees  those 
innumerable  stars  in  the  heavens,  which,  though  fixed  in 
their  places,  have  yet  one  motion  in  common  with  the 
whole  universe,  and  observes  the  seven  other  stars,  some 
higher,  some  lower,  each  maintaining  their  own  course, 
while  their  motions,  though  wandering,  have  certain  de- 
fined and  appointed  spaces  to  run  through !  the  sight  of 
which  doubtless  urged  and  encouraged  those  ancient  phi- 
losophers to  exercise  their  investigating  spirit  on  many 
other  things.  Hence  arose  an  inquiry  after  the  beginnings, 
and,  as  it  were,  seeds  from  which  all  things  were  produced 
and  composed  ;  what  Avas  the  origin  of  every  kind  of  thing, 
whether  animate  or  inanimate,  articulately  speaking  or 
mute;  what  occasioned  their  beginning  and  end,  and  by 
what  alteration  and  change  one  thing  was  converted  into 
another ;  whence  the  earth  originated,  and  by  what  weights 
it  was  balanced ;  by  what  caverns  the  seas  were  sup])lied ; 
by  what  gravity  all  things  being  carried  down  tend  always 
to  the  middle  of  the  woi-ld,  which  in  any  round  body  is 
the  lowest  i)lace. 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       189 

XXV.  A  mind  employed  on  such  subjects,  and  wliicli 
night  and  day  contemplates  tlieni,  contains  in  itself  that 
precept  of  the  Delphic  God,  so  as  to  "  know  itself,"  and  to 
perceive  its  connection  with  the  divine  reason,  from  whence 
it  is  filled  with  an  insatiable  joy.  For  reflections  on  the 
power  and  nature  of  the  Gods  raise  in  us  a  desire  of  im- 
itating their  eternity.  Nor  does  the  mind,  that  sees  the 
necessary  dependences  and  connections  that  one  cause  has 
with  another,  think  it  possible  that  it  should  be  itself  con- 
fined to  the  shortness  of  this  life.  Those  causes,  though 
they  proceed  from  eternity  to  eternity,  are  governed  by 
reason  and  understanding.  And  he  who  beholds  them 
and  examines  them,  or  rather  he  whose  view  takes  in  all 
the  parts  and  boundaries  of  things,  with  what  tranquillity 
of  mind  does  he  look  on  all  human  affairs,  and  on  all  that 
is  nearer  him !  Hence  proceeds  the  knowledge  of  virtue; 
hence  arise  the  kinds  and  species  of  virtues;  hence  are 
discovered  those  things  which  nature  regards  as  the 
bounds  and  extremities  of  good  and  evil ;  by  this  it  is  dis- 
covered to  what  all  duties  ought  to  be  referred,  and  which 
is  the  most  eligible  manner  of  life.  And  when  these  and 
similar  points  have  been  investigated,  the  principal  conse- 
quence which  is  deduced  from  them,  and  that  which  is  our 
main  object  in  this  discussion,  is  the  establishment  of  the 
point,  that  virtue  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  a  happy  life. 

The  third  qualification  of  our  wise  man  is  the  next  to 
be  considered,  which  goes  through  and  spreads  itself  over 
every  part  of  w^isdom;  it  is  that  whereby  we  define  each 
particular  thing,  distinguish  the  genus  from  its  species, 
connect  consequences,  draw  just  conclusions,  and  distin- 
guish truth  from  falsehood,  which  is  the  very  art  and 
science  of  disputing;  which  is  not  only  of  the  greatest  use 
in  the  examination  of  what  passes  in  the  world,  but  is 
likewise  the  most  rational  entertainment,  and  that  which 
is  most  becoming  to  true  wisdom.  Such  are  its  effects  in 
retirement.  Now,  let  our  wise  man  be  considered  as  pro- 
tecting the  republic ;  what  can  be  more  excellent  than  such 
a  character  ?  By  his  prudence  he  will  discover  the  true  in- 
terests of  his  fellow-citizens ;  by  his  justice  he  will  be  pre- 
vented from  applying  what  belongs  to  the  public  to  his 
own  use ;  and,  in  short,  he  will  be  ever  governed  by  all  the 


190  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

virtues,  wliicli  are  many  and  various.  To  these  let  ns  add 
the  advantage  of  his  friendships ;  in  which  the  learned 
reckon  not  only  a  natural  harmony  and  agreement  of  sen- 
timents througliout  the  conduct  of  life,  but  the  utmost 
pleasure  and  satisfaction  in  conversing  and  passing  our 
time  constantly  witli  one  another.  What  can  be  wanting 
to  sucli  a  life  as  this  to  make  it  more  happy  than  it  is? 
Fortune  herself  must  yield  to  a  life  stored  with  such  joys. 
Now,  if  it  be  a  liappiness  to  rejoice  in  such  goods  of  the 
mind,  that  is  to  say,  in  such  virtues,  and  if  all  wise  men 
enjoy  tliorouglily  these  pleasures,  it  must  necessarily  be 
granted  that  all  such  are  happy. 

XXVI.  A.  What,  when  in  torments  and  on  tlic  rack? 

31.  Do  you  imagine  I  am  speaking  of  Idm  as  laid  on 
roses  and  violets?  Is  it  allowable  even  for  Epicurus  (who 
only  puts  on  the  appearance  of  being  a  philosopher,  and 
who  himself  assumed  that  name  for  himself)  to  say  (though, 
as  matters  stand,  I  commend  him  for  his  saying)  that  a 
wise  man  might  at  all  times  cry  out,  though  he  be  burned, 
tortured,  cut  to  pieces,  "How  little  I  regard  it!"  Shall 
this  be  said  by  one  who  defines  all  evil  as  ])ain,  and  meas- 
ures every  good  by  pleasure;  who  could  ridicule  whatever 
we  call  either  honoi'able  or  base,  and  could  declare  of  us 
that  we  were  employed  about  words,  and  nttering  mere 
empty  sounds;  and  that  nothing  is  to  be  regarded  by  us 
but  as  it  is  perceived  to  be  smooth  or  rough  by  the  body? 
What!  shall  such  a  man  as  this,  as  I  said,  whose  under- 
standing is  little  superior  to  the  beasts',  be  at  liberty  to 
forget  himself;  and  not  only  to  despise  fortune,  when  the 
whole  of  his  good  and  evil  is  in  the  power  of  fortune,  but 
to  say  that  he  is  happy  in  the  most  racking  torture,  Avhen 
he  had  actually  declared  pain  to  be  not  only  the  greatest 
evil,  but  the  only  one?  Nor  did  he  take  any  trouble  to 
provide  himself  with  those  remedies  which  might  have 
enabled  liini  to  bear  pain,  sucli  as  firmness  of  mind,  a 
shame  of  doing  anything  base,  exercise,  and  the  habit  of 
patience,  ]irecei)ts  of  courage,  and  a  manly  hardiness ;  but 
he  says  that  he  supports  himself  on  the  single  recollection 
of  past  pleasures,  as  if  any  one,  when  the  weather  was  so 
liot  as  that  he  was  scarcely  able  to  bear  it,  should  comfort 
himself  by  recollecting  that  he  was  once  in  my  country, 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       191 

Arpinnm,  where  he  was  siirrouncled  on  every  side  by  cooU 
iiig  streams.  For  I  do  not  apprehend  how  past  pleasures 
can  allay  present  evils.  But  when  he  says  that  a  wise 
man  is  always  happy  who  would  have  no  right  to  say  so 
if  he  were  consistent  with  himself,  what  may  they  not  do 
who  allow  nothing  to  be  desirable,  nothing  to  be  looked 
on  as  good  but  what  is  honorable?  Let,  then,  the  Peripa- 
tetics and  Old  Academics  follow  my  example,  and  at  length 
leave  off  muttering  to  themselves;  and  openly  and  with  a 
clear  voice  let  them  be  bold  to  say  that  a  happy  life  may 
not  be  inconsistent  with  the  agonies  of  Phalaris's  bull. 

XXVII.  But  to  dismiss  the  subtleties  of  the  Stoics, 
which  I  am  sensible  I  have  employed  more  than  was  nec- 
essary, let  us  admit  of  three  kinds  of  goods;  and  let  them 
really  be  kinds  of  goods,  provided  no  regard  is  had  to 
the  body  and  to  external  circumstances,  as  entitled  to  the 
appellation  of  good  in  any  other  sense  than  because  we 
are  obliged  to  use  them :  but  let  those  other  divine  goods 
spread  themselves  far  in  every  direction,  and  reach  the 
very  heavens.  Why,  then,  may  I  not  call  him  happy,  uay, 
the  happiest  of  men,  who  has  attained  them  ?  Shall  a 
wise  man  be  afraid  of  pain?  which  is,  indeed,  the  greatest 
enemy  to  our  opinion.  For  I  am  persuaded  that  we  are 
prepared  and  fortified  sufficiently,  by  the  disputations  of 
the  foregoing  days,  against  our  own  death  or  that  of  our 
friends,  against  grief,  and  the  other  perturbations  of  the 
mind.  But  pain  seems  to  be  the  sharpest  adversary  of 
virtue;  that  it  is  which  menaces  us  with  burning  torches; 
that  it  is  which  threatens  to  crush  our  fortitude,  and 
greatness  of  mind,  and  patience.  Shall  virtue,  then,  yield 
to  this?  Shall  the  happy  life  of  a  wise  and  consistent 
man  succumb  to  this  ?  Good  Gods  !  how  base  would  this 
be !  Spartan  boys  will  bear  to  have  their  bodies  torn  by 
rods  without  uttering  a  groan.  I  myself  have  seen  at 
Laceda^mon  troops  of  young  men,  with  incredible  earnest- 
ness contending  together  with  their  hands  and  feet,  with 
their  teeth  and  nails,  nay,  even  ready  to  expire,  rather  tkan 
own  themselves  conquered.  Is  any  country  of  barbarians 
more  uncivilized  or  desolate  than  India?  Yet  they  have 
among  them  some  that  are  held  for  wise  men,  who  never 
wear  any  clothes  all  their  life  long,  and  who  bear  the 


192  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

snow  of  Caucasus,  and  the  piercing  cold  of  winter,  with- 
out any  pain ;  and  who  if  they  come  in  contact  with  fire 
endure  being  burned  without  a  groan.  The  women,  too, 
in  India,  on  tlie  deatli  of  their  husbands  have  a  regular 
contest,  and  apply  to  the  judge  to  liave  it  determined  which 
of  them  was  best  beloved  by  him ;  for  it  is  customaiy 
there  for  one  man  to  have  many  wives.  She  in  whose 
favor  it  is  determined  exults  greatly,  and  being  attended 
by  her  relations,  is  laid  on  the  funeral  pile  with  her  Iius- 
band ;  the  others,  who  are  postponed,  walk  away  very 
much  dejected.  Custom  can  never  be  superior  to  nature, 
for  nature  is  never  to  be  got  the  better  of.  But  our  minds 
are  infected  by  sloth  and  idleness,  and  luxury,  and  languor, 
and  indolence :  we  have  enervated  them  by  opinions  and 
bad  customs.  Who  is  there  who  is  unacquainted  w^ith  the 
customs  of  the  Egyptians?  Their  minds  being  tainted 
by  pernicious  opinions,  they  are  ready  to  bear  any  torture 
rather  than  hurt  an  ibis,  a  snake,  a  cat,  a  dog,  or  a  croco- 
dile; and  should  any  one  inadvertently  have  hurt  any  of 
these  animals,  he  will  submit  to  any  punishment.  I  am 
speaking  of  men  only.  As  to  the  beasts,  do  they  not  bear 
cold  and  hunger,  running  about  in  Avoods,  and  on  moun- 
tains and  deserts?  Will  they  not  fight  for  their  young 
ones  till  they  are  wounded  ?  Are  they  afraid  of  any  at- 
tacks or  blows?  I  mention  not  what  the  ambitious  will 
suffer  for  honor's  sake,  or  those  who  are  desirous  of  praise 
on  account  of  glory,  or  lovers  to  gratify  their  lust.  Life 
is  full  of  such  instances. 

XXVIII.  But  let  us  not  dwell  too  much  on  these  ques- 
tions, but  rather  let  us  return  to  our  subject.  I  say,  and 
say  again,  that  happiness  will  submit  even  to  be  torment- 
ed; and  that  in  pursuit  of  justice,  and  temperance,  and 
still  more  especially  and  principally  fortitude,  and  great- 
ness of  soul,  and  patience,  it  will  not  stop  short  at  sight  of 
the  executioner ;  and  when  all  other  virtues  proceed  calm- 
ly to  the  torture,  that  one  will  never  halt,  as  I  said,  on  the 
outi^ide  and  threshold  of  the  prison  ;  for  what  can  be  baser, 
what  can  carry  a  worse  appearance,  than  to  be  left  alone, 
separated  from  those  beautiful  attendants  ?  Not,  however, 
that  this  is  by  any  means  possible;  for  neither  can  the 
virtues   hold  together  without  ha})pincss,  nor   happiness 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       193 

without  the  virtues ;  so  that  they  wilj  not  suffer  her  to  de- 
sert them,  but  will  carry  her  along  with  them,  to  whatever 
torments,  to  whatever  pain  they  are  led.  For  it  is  the 
peculiar  quality  of  a  wise  man  to  do  nothing  that  he  may 
repent  of,  nothing  against  his  Inclination,  but  always  to 
act  nobly,  with  constancy,  gravity,  and  honesty ;  to  depend 
on  nothing  as  certainty;  to  wonder  at  nothing,  when  it 
falls  out,  as  if  it  appeared  strange  and  unexpected  to  him ; 
to  be  independent  of  every  one,  and  abide  by  his  own 
opinion.  For  my  part,  I  caimot  form  an  idea  of  anything 
happier  than  this.  The  conclusion  of  the  Stoics  is  indeed 
easy ;  for  since  they  are  persuaded  that  the  end  of  good  is 
to  live  agreeably  to  nature,  and  to  be  consistent  with  that 
— as  a  wise  man  should  do  so,  not  only  because  it  is  his 
duty,  but  because  it  is  in  his  power — it  must,  of  course, 
follow  that  whoever  has  the  chief  good  in  his  power  has 
his  happiness  so  too.  And  thus  the  life  of  a  wise  man  is 
always  happy.  You  have  here  what  I  think  may  be  con- 
fidently said  of  a  happy  life;  and  as  things  now  stand,  very 
truly  also,  unless  you  can  advance  something  better. 

XXIX.  A.  Indeed  I  cannot;  but  I  should  be  glad  to 
prevail  on  you,  unless  it  is  troublesome  (as  you  are  under 
no  confinement  from  obligations  to  any  particular  sect,  but 
gather  from  all  of  them  whatever  strikes  you  most  as  hav- 
ing the  appearance  of  probability),  as  you  just  now  seem- 
ed to  advise  the  Peripatetics  and  the  Old  Academy  boldly 
to  speak  out  without  reserve,  "  that  wise  men  are  always 
the  happiest" — I  should  be  glad  to  hear  how  you  think  it 
consistent  for  them  to  say  so,  when  you  have  said  so  much 
against  that  opinion,  and  the  conclusions  of  the  Stoics. 

31.  I  will  make  use,  then,  of  that  liberty  which  no  one 
has  the  privilege  of  using  in  philosophy  but  those  of  our 
school,  whose  discourses  determine  nothing,  but  take  in 
everything,  leaving  them  unsupported  by  the  authority  of 
any  particular  person,  to  be  judged  of  by  others,  accord- 
ing to  their  weight.  And  as  you  seem  desirous  of  know- 
ing how  it  is  that,  notwithstanding  the  different  opinions 
of  philosophers  Avith  regard  to  the  ends  of  goods,  virtue 
has  still  sufficient  security  for  the  effecting  of  a  happy  life 
— which  security,  as  we  are  informed,  Carneades  used  in- 
deed to  dispute  against;  but  he  disputed  as  against  the 

9 


194  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

Stoics,  whose  opinions  he  combated  with  great  zeal  and 
vehemence.  I,  however,  shall  handle  the  question  M'ith 
more  temper;  for  if  the  Stoics  have  rightly  settled  the 
ends  of  goods,  the  affair  is  at  an  end ;  for  a  wise  man 
must  necessarily  be  always  happy.  But  let  us  examine,  if 
we  can,  the  particular  opinions  of  the  others,  that  so  this 
excellent  decision,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  in  favor  of  a  happy 
life,  may  be  agreeable  to  the  opinions  and  discipline  of  all. 
XXX.  These,  then,  are  the  opinions,  as  I  think,  that  are 
held  and  defended — the  first  four  are  simple  ones :  "  that 
nothing  is  good  but  what  is  honest,"  according  to  the  Sto- 
ics ;  "  nothing  good  but  pleasure,"  as  Epicurus  maintains ; 
"nothing  good  but  a  freedom  from  pain,"  as  Hieronymus' 
asserts;  "nothing  good  but  an  enjoyment  of  the  princi- 
pal, or  all,  or  the  greatest  goods  of  nature,"  as  Carneades 
mainlined  against  the  Stoics — these  are  simple,  the  oth- 
ers are  mixed  propositions.  Then  there  are  three  kinds 
of  goods :  the  greatest  being  those  of  the  mind ;  the  next 
best  those  of  the  body ;  the  third  are  external  goods,  as 
the  Peripatetics  call  them,  and  the  Old  Academics  differ 
very  little  from  them.  Dinomachus'^  and  CaiHpho^  have 
coupled  pleasure  with  honesty;  but  Diodorus*  the  Peri- 
patetic has  joined  indolence  to  honesty.  These  are  the 
opinions  that  have  some  footing;  for  those  of  Aristo,^ 
Pyrrho,®  Herillus,'^  and  of  some  others,  are  quite  out  of 
date.      Now  let  us  see  what  weight  these  men  have  in 

^  Hieronymus  was  a  Rhodian,  and  a  pupil  of  Aristotle,  flourishing 
about  300  B.C.     He  is  frequently  mentioned  by  Cicero. 

^  We  know  very  little  of  Dinomachus.  Some  MSS.  have  Clitonia- 
chus. 

^  Callipho  was  in  all  probability  a  pupil  of  Epicurus,  but  Ave  have  no 
certain  information  about  him, 

*  Diodorus  was  a  Syrian,  and  succeeded  Critolaus  as  the  head  of  the 
Peripatetic  School  at  Athens. 

'  Aristo  was  a  native  of  Ceos,  and  a  pupil  of  Lycon,  who  succeeded 
Straton  as  the  head  of  the  Peripatetic  School,  270  B.C.  He  afterward 
himself  succeeded  Lycon. 

°  Pynho  was  a  native  of  Elis,  and  the  originator  of  the  sceptical 
theories  of  some  of  the  ancient  philosophers.  He  was  a  contemporary 
of  Alexander. 

■'  Plerillus  was  a  disciple  of  Zeno  of  Cittium,  and  therefore  a  Stoic. 
He  did  not,  however,  follow  all  the  opinions  of  his  master :  he  hel<l  that 
knowledge  was  the  chief  good.  Some  of  the  treatises  of  Cleanthes  were 
written  expressly  to  confute  him. 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       195 

them,  excepting  the  Stoics,  whose  opinion  I  think  I  have 
sufficiently  defended ;  and  indeed  I  have  explained  what 
the  Peripatetics  have  to  say;  excepting  that  Theophrastns, 
and  those  who  followed  him,  dread  and  abhor  pain  in  too 
weak  a  manner.  The  others  may  go  on  to  exaggerate 
the  gravity  and  dignity  of  virtue,  as  usual ;  and  then,  after 
they  have  extolled  it  to  the  skies,  with  the  usual  extrava- 
gance of  good  orators,  it  is  easy  to  reduce  the  other  topics 
to  nothing  by  comparison,  and  to  hold  them  up  to  con- 
tempt. They  wiio  think  that  praise  deserves  to  be  sought 
after,  even  at  the  expense  of  pain,  are  not  at  liberty  to 
deny  those  men  to  be  happy  who  have  obtained  it.  Though 
they  may  be  under  some  evils,  yet  this  name  of  happy  has 
a  very  wide  application. 

XXXI.  For  even  as  trading  is  said  to  be  lucrative,  and 
farming  advantageous,  not  because  the  one  never  meets 
with  any  loss,  nor  the  other  with  any  damage  from  the  in- 
clemency of  the  weather,  but  because  they  succeed  in  gen- 
eral; so  life  may  be  properly  called  happy,  not  from  its 
being  entirely  made  up  of  good  things,  but  because  it 
abounds  with  these  to  a  great  and  considerable  degree. 
By  this  way  of  reasoning,  then,  a  happy  life  may  attend 
virtue  even  to  the  moment  of  execution  ;  nay,  may  descend 
with  her  into  Phalaris's  bull,  according  to  Aristotle,  Xenoc- 
rates,  Speusippus,  Polemon ;  and  will  not  be  gained  over 
by  any  allurements  to  forsake  her.  Of  the  same  opinion 
will  Calliphon  and  Diodorus  be ;  for  they  are  both  of  them 
such  friends  to  virtue  as  to  think  that  all  things  should  be 
discarded  and  far  removed  that  are  incompatible  with  it. 
The  rest  seem  to  be  more  hampered  with  these  doctrines, 
but  yet  they  get  clear  of  them ;  such  as  Epicurus,  Hie- 
ronymus,  and  whoever  else  thinks  it  worth  while  to  defend 
the  deserted  Carneades :  for  there  is  not  one  of  them  who 
does  not  think  the  mind  to  be  judge  of  those  goods,  and 
able  sufficiently  to  instruct  him  how  to  despise  what  has 
the  appearance  only  of  good  or  evil.  For  what  seems  to 
you  to  be  the  case  with  Epicurus  is  the  case  also  Avith 
Hieronymus  and  Carneades,  and,  indeed,  with  all  the  rest 
of  them ;  for  who  is  there  who  is  not  sufficiently  prepared 
against  death  and  pain  ?  I  will  begin,  with  your  leave, 
with  him  whom  we  call  soft   and  voluptuous.     What! 


196  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

does  he  seem  to  you  to  be  afraid  of  death  or  pain  when 
he  calls  the  day  of  his  death  happy ;  and  who,  when  he  is 
afflicted  by  the  greatest  pains,  silences  them  all  by  recol- 
lecting arguments  of  his  own  discovering?  And  this  is 
not  done  in  siicli  a  manner  as  to  give  room  for  imagining 
that  he  talks  thus  wildly  from  some  sudden  impulse ;  but 
his  opinion  of  death  is,  that  on  the  dissolution  of  the  ani- 
mal all  sense  is  lost ;  and  what  is  deprived  of  sense  is,  as 
he  thinks,  what  we  have  no  concern  at  all  with.  And  as 
to  pain,  too,  he  has  certain  rules  to  follow  then :  if  it  be 
great,  the  comfort  is  that  it  must  be  short;  if  it  be  of 
long  continuance,  then  it  must  be  supportable.  What, 
then  ?  Do  those  grandiloquent  gentlemen  state  anything 
better  than  Epicurus  in  opposition  to  these  two  things 
Avhich  distress  us  the  most  ?  And  as  to  other  things,  do 
not  Epicurus  and  the  rest  of  the  philosophers  seem  suffi- 
ciently prepared  ?  Who  is  there  who  does  not  dread  pov- 
erty?    And  yet  no  true  philosopher  ever  can  dread  it. 

XXXII.  But  with  how  little  is  this  man  himself  satis- 
fied !  No  one  has  said  more  on  frugality.  For  when  a 
man  is  far  removed  from  those  things  which  occasion  a 
desire  of  money,  from  love,  ambition,  or  other  daily  ex- 
travagance, Avhy  should  he  be  fond  of  money,  or  concern 
himself  at  all  about  it?  Could  the  Scythian  Anacharsis^ 
disregard  money,  and  shall  not  our  philosophers  be  able 
to  do  so?  We  are  informed  of  an  epistle  of  his  in  these 
words:  "Anacharsis  to  Hanno,  greeting.  My  clothing  is 
the  same  as  that  with  which  the  Scythians  cover  them- 
selves; the  hardness  of  my  feet  supplies  the  want  of 
shoes ;  the  ground  is  my  bed,  hunger  my  sauce,  my  food 
milk,  cheese,  and  flesh.  So  you  may  come  to  me  as  to  a 
man  in  want  of  nothing.  But  as  to  those  presents  you 
take  so  much  pleasure  in,  you  may  dispose  of  them  to  your 
own  citizens,  or  to  the  immortal  Gods."  And  almost  all 
philosophers,  of  all  schools,  excepting  those  who  are  warp- 

^  Anacharsis  was  (ITerod.,  iv.,  76)  son  of  Gnurus  and  brother  of  Sauli- 
us,  King  of  Thrace.  He  came  to  Athens  while  Solon  was  occnpied  in 
framing  laws  for  his  people;  and  by  the  simplicity  of  his  way  of  living, 
and  his  acute  observations  on  the  manners  of  the  Greeks,  lie  excited 
such  general  admiration  that  he  was  reckoned  by  some  writers  among 
the  Seven  Wise  Men  of  Greece. 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       197 

ed  from  right  reason  by  a  vicious  disposition,  might  have 
been  of  this  same  opinion.  Socrates,  when  on  one  occasion 
he  saw  a  great  quantity  of  gold  and  silver  carried  in  a  pro- 
cession, cried  out, "  How  many  things  are  there  which  I 
do  not  want !"  Xenocrates,  when  some  ambassadors  from 
Alexander  had  brought  him  fifty  talents,  which  was  a  very 
large  sum  of  money  in  those  times,  especially  at  Athens, 
carried  the  ambassadors  to  sup  in  the  Academy,  and  placed 
just  a  sufiiciency  before  them,  without  any  apparatus. 
When  they  asked  him,  the  next  day,  to  whom  he  wished 
the  money  which  they  had  for  him  to  be  paid :  "  What !" 
said  he,  "  did  you  not  perceive  by  our  slight  repast  of  yes- 
terday that  I  had  no  occasion  for  money  ?"  But  when  he 
perceived  that  they  were  somewhat  dejected,  he  accepted 
of  thirty  minse,  that  he  might  not  seem  to  treat  with  dis- 
respect the  king's  generosity.  But  Diogenes  took  a  great- 
er liberty,  like  a  Cynic,  when  Alexander  asked  him  if  he 
wanted  anything :  "  Just  at  present,"  said  he,  "  I  wish  that 
you  would  stand  a  little  out  of  the  line  between  me  and 
the  sun,"  for  Alexander  was  hindering  him  from  sunning 
himself.  And,  indeed,  this  very  man  used  to  maintain  how 
much  he  surpassed  the  Persian  king  in  his  manner  of  life 
and  fortune;  for  that  he  himself  was  in  want  of  nothing, 
while  the  other  never  had  enough ;  and  that  he  had  no  in- 
clination for  those  pleasures  of  which  the  other  could  nev- 
er get  enough  to  satisfy  himself ;  and  that  the  other  could 
never  obtain  his. 

XXXIII.  You  see,  I  imagine,  how  Epicurus  has  divided 
his  kinds  of  desires,  not  very  acutely  perhaps,  but  yet  use- 
fully: saying  that  they  are  "partly  natural  and  necessary; 
partly  natural,  but  not  necessary ;  partly  neither.  That 
those  which  are  necessary  may  be  supplied  almost  for 
nothing;  for  that  the  things  which  nature  requires  are 
easily  obtained."  As  to  the  second  kind  of  desires,  his 
opinion  is  that  any  one  may  easily  either  enjoy  or  go  with- 
out them.  And  with  regard  to  the  third,  since  they  are 
utterly  frivolous,  being  neither  allied  to  necessity  nor  nat- 
ure, he  thinks  that  they  should  be  entirely  rooted  out.  On 
this  topic  a  great  many  arguments  are  adduced  by  the 
Epicureans;  and  those  pleasures  which  they  do  not  de- 
spise in  a  body,  they  disparage  one  by  one,  and  seem  rath- 


198  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS 

er  for  lessening  the  number  of  them ;  for  as  to  wanton 
pleasures,  on  which  subject  they  say  a  great  deal,  these, 
say  they,  are  easy,  common,  and  within  any  one's  reach ; 
and  they  think  that  if  nature  requires  them,  they  are  not 
to  be  estimated  by  birth,  condition,  or  rank,  but  by  shnpe, 
age,  and  person :  and  that  it  is  by  no  means  difficult  to  re- 
frain from  them,  should  health,  duty,  or  reputation  require 
it ;  but  that  pleasures  of  this  kind  may  be  desirable,  where 
they  are  attended  with  no  inconvenience,  but  can  never 
be  of  any  use.  And  the  assertions  which  Epicurus  makes 
with  respect  to  the  whole  of  pleasure  are  such  as  show  his 
opinion  to  be  that  pleasure  is  always  desirable,  and  to  be 
pursued  merely  because  it  is  pleasure  ;  and  for  the  same 
reason  pain  is  to  be  avoided,  because  it  is  pain.  So  that 
a  wise  man  will  always  adopt  such  a  system  of  counter- 
balancing as  to  do  himself  the  justice  to  avoid  pleasure, 
should  pain  ensue  from  it  in  too  great  a  proportion ;  and 
will  submit  to  pain,  provided  the  effects  of  it  are  to  pro- 
duce a  greater  pleasure:  so  that  all  pleasurable  things, 
though  the  corporeal  senses  are  the  judges  of  them,  are 
still  to  be  referred  to  the  mind,  on  which  account  the  body 
rejoices  while  it  perceives  a  present  pleasure ;  but  that  the 
mind  not  only  perceives  the  present  as  well  as  the  body, 
but  foresees  it  while  it  is  coming,  and  even  when  it  is  past 
will  not  let  it  quite  slip  away.  So  that  a  wise  man  enjoys 
a  continual  series  of  pleasures,  uniting  the  expectation  of 
future  pleasure  to  the  recollection  of  what  he  has  already 
tasted.  The  like  notions  are  applied  by  them  to  high  liv- 
ing ;  and  the  magnificence  and  expensiveness  of  entertain- 
ments are  deprecated,  because  nature  is  satisfied  at  a  small 
expense. 

XXXIV.  For  who  does  not  see  this,  that  an  appetite 
is  the  best  sauce  ?  When  Darius,  in  his  flight  from  the 
enemy,  had  drunk  some  water  which  was  muddy  and 
tainted  with  dead  bodies,  he  declared  that  he  had  never 
drunk  anything  more  pleasant ;  the  fact  was,  that  he  had 
never  drunk  before  when  he  was  thirsty.  Nor  had  Ptol- 
emy ever  eaten  when  he  was  hungry ;  for  as  he  was  trav- 
elling over  Egypt,  his  company  not  keeping  up  Avith  him, 
he  had  some  coarse  bread  presented  him  in  a  cottage, 
upon  which  he  said, "  Nothing  ever  seemed  to  him  pleas- 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.      199 

anter  than  that  bread."  They  relate,  too,  of  Socrates,  that, 
once  when  he  was  walking  very  fast  till  the  evening,  on 
his  being  asked  why  he  did  so,  his  reply  was  that  he 
was  purchasing  an  appetite  by  walking,  that  he  might  sup 
the  better.  And  do  w^e  not  see  what  the  Lacedaemonians 
provide  in  their  Phiditia?  where  the  tyrant  Dionysius 
supped,  but  told  them  he  did  not  at  all  like  that  black 
broth,  which  was  their  principal  dish ;  on  which  he  who 
dressed  it  said,  "It  was  no  wonder,  for  it  wanted  season- 
ing." Dionysius  asked  what  that  seasoning  was ;  to  which 
it  was  replied,  "Fatigue  in  hunting,  sweating,  a  race  on 
the  banks  of  Eurotas,  hunger  and  thirst,"  for  these  are  the 
seasonings  to  the  Lacediemonian  banquets.  And  this  may 
not  only  be  conceived  from  the  custom  of  men,  but  from 
the  beasts,  who  are  satisfied  with  anything  that  is  thrown 
before  thein,  provided  it  is  not  unnatural,  and  they  seek 
no  farther.  Some  entire  cities,  tangiit  by  custom,  delight 
in  parsimony,  as  I  said  but  just  now  of  the  Lacedaemo- 
nians. Xenophon  has  given  an  account  of  the  Persian  diet, 
who  never,  as  he  saitli,  use  anything  but  cresses  with 
their  bread ;  not  but  that,  should  nature  require  anything 
more  agreeable,  many  things  might  be  easily  supplied  by 
the  ground,  and  plants  in  great  abundance,  and  of  incom- 
parable sweetness.  Add  to  this  strength  and  health,  as 
the  consequence  of  this  abstemious  way  of  living.  Now, 
compare  with  this  those  who  sweat  and  belch,  being  cram- 
med with  eating,  like  fatted  oxen ;  then  will  you  perceive 
that  they  who  pursue  pleasure  most  attain  it  least;  and 
that  the  pleasure  of  eating  lies  not  in  satiety,  but  appetite. 
XXXV.  They  report  of  Timotheus,  a  famous  man  at 
Athens,  and  the  head  of  the  city,  that  having  supped  with 
Plato,  and  being  extremely  delighted  with  his  entertain- 
ment, on  seeing  him  the  next  day,  he  said, "  Your  suppers 
are  not  only  agreeable  while  I  partake  of  them,  but  the 
next  day  also."  Besides,  the  understanding  is  impaired 
when  we  are  full  with  overeating  and  drinking.  There  is 
an  excellent  epistle  of  Plato  to  Dion's  relations,  in  which 
there  occurs  as  nearly  as  possible  these  w^ords :  "  When  I 
came  there,  that  happy  life  so  much  talked  of,  devoted  to 
Italian  and  Syracusnn  entertainments,  was  noways  agree- 
able to  me;  to  be  crammed  twice  a  day,  and  never  to 


200  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

hjive  tlie  iiiglit  to  yourself,  and  tlie  other  things  wliich  are 
the  accompaniments  of  this  kind  of  life,  by  which  a  man 
will  never  be  made  the  wiser,  but  will  be  rendered  much 
less  temperate;  for  it  must  be  an  extraordinary  disposi- 
tion that  can  be  temperate  in  such  circumstances."  How, 
then,  can  a  life  be  pleasant  without  prudence  and  temper- 
ance? Plence  you  discover  the  mistake  of  Sardanapalus, 
the  wealthiest  king  of  the  Assyrians,  who  ordered  it  to  be 
angraved  on  his  tomb, 

I  still  have  what  in  food  I  did  exhaust ; 
But  what  I  left,  though  excellent,  is  lost. 

"What  less  than  this,"  says  Aristotle,  "could  be  in- 
scribed on  the  tomb,  not  of  a  king,  but  an  ox  ?"  He  said 
that  he  possessed  those  things  when  dead,  which,  in  his 
lifetime,  he  could  have  no  longer  than  while  he  was  enjoy- 
ing them.  Why,  then,  are  riches  desired  ?  And  wherein 
doth  poverty  prevent  us  from  being  happy  ?  In  the  want, 
I  imagine,  of  statues,  pictures,  and  diversions.  But  if  any 
one  is  dehghted  with  these  things,  have  not  the  poor  peo- 
ple the  enjoyment  of  them  more  than  they  who  are  the 
owners  of  them  in  the  greate'st  abundance?  For  we  have 
great  numbers  of  them  displayed  publicly  in  our  city. 
And  whatever  store  of  them  private  peojile  have,  they  can- 
not have  a  great  number,  and  they  but  seldom  see  them, 
only  when  they  go  to  their  country  seats;  and  some  of 
them  must  be  stung  to  the  heart  when  they  consider  how 
they  came  by  them.  The  day  would  fail  me,  should  I  be 
inclined  to  defend  the  cause  of  poverty.  The  thing  is  man- 
ifest; and  nature  daily  informs  us  how  few  things  there 
are,  and  how  trifling  they  are,  of  which  she  really  stands 
in  need. 

XXXVI.  Let  us  inquire,  then,  if  obscurity,  the  want  of 
power,  or  even  the  being  unpopular,  can  prevent  a  wise 
man  from  being  happy.  Observe  if  popular  favor,  and 
this  glory  which  they  are  so  fond  of,  be  not  attended  with 
more  uneasiness  than  pleasure.  Our  friend  Demosthenes 
was  certainly  very  weak  in  declaring  himself  pleased  with 
the  whisper  of  a  woman  who  was  carrying  water,  as  is  the 
custom  in  Greece, and  who  whispered  to  another, "That  is 
he — that  is  Demosthenes."     What  could  be  weaker  than 


WlIErilEK  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       201 

this  ?  and  yet  what  an  orator  he  was !  But  although  ho 
liad  learned  to  speak  to  others,  he  had  conversed  but  lit- 
tie  with  himself.  We  may  perceive,  therefore,  that  pop- 
ular glory  is  not  desirable  of  itself;  nor  is  obscurity  to 
be  dreaded.  "  I  came  to  Athens,"  saith  Democritus,  "  and 
there  was  no  one  there  that  knew  me:"  this  was  a  mod- 
erate and  grave  man  who  could  glory  in  his  obscurity. 
Shall  musicians  compose  their  tunes  to  their  own  tastes? 
and  shall  a  philosopher,  master  of  a  much  better  art,  seek 
to  ascertain,  not  what  is  most  true,  but  what  will  please 
the  people?  Can  anything  be  more  absurd  than  to  de- 
spise the  vulgar  as  mere  unpolished  mechanics,  taken  sin- 
gly, and  to  think  them  of  consequence  when  collected  into 
a  body?  These  wise  men  would  contemn  our  ambitious 
pursuits  and  our  vanities,  and  Avould  reject  all  the  honors 
wliich  the  people  could  voluntarily  offer  to  them ;  but  Ave 
know  not  how  to  despise  them  till  we  begin  to  repent  of 
having  accepted  them.  There  is  an  anecdote  related  by 
Ilernclitus,  the  natural  philosopher,  of  Hermodorus,  the 
chief  of  the  Ephesians,  that  he  said  "  that  all  the  Ephe- 
sians  ought  to  be  punished  with  death  for  saying,  "when 
they  had  expelled  Hermodorus  out  of  their  city,  that  they 
would  have  no  one  among  them  better  than  another;  but 
that  if  there  were  any  such,  he  might  go  elsewhere  to  some 
other  people."  Is  not  this  the  case  W'ith  the  people  every- 
where? Do  they  not  hate  every  virtue  that  distinguishes 
itself?  What!  was  not  Aristides  (I  had  rather  instance 
in  the  Greeks  than  ourselves)  banished  his  country  for  be- 
ing eminently  just?  What  troubles,  then,  are  they  free 
from  who  have  no  connection  whatever  with  the  people? 
What  is  more  agreeable  than  a  learned  retirement?  I 
speak  of  that  learning  which  makes  us  acquainted  with 
the  boundless  extent  of  nature  and  the  universe,  and  which 
even  while  we  remain  in  this  world  discovers  to  us  both 
heaven,  earth,  and  sea. 

XXXVII.  If,  then,  honor  and  riches  have  no  value,  what 
is  there  else  to  be  afraid  of?  Banishment,!  suppose;  which 
is  looked  on  as  the  greatest  evil.  Now,  if  the  evil  of  ban- 
ishment proceeds  not  from  ourselves,  but  from  the  froward 
disposition  of  the  people,  I  have  just  now  declared  how 
contemptible  it  is.     But  if  to  leave  one's  country  be  miS' 

9* 


202  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

erable,  the  provinces  are  full  of  miserable  men,  very  few 
of  the  settlers  in  which  ever  return  to  their  country  again. 
But  exiles  are  deprived  of  their  property  !  What,  then ! 
has  there  not  been  enough  said  on  bearing  poverty?  But 
with  regard  to  banishment,  if  we  examine  the  nature  of 
things,  not  the  ignominy  of  the  name,  how  little  does  it 
differ  from  constant  travelling!  in  which  some  of  the  most 
famous  philosophers  have  spent  their  whole  life,  as  Xenoc- 
rates,  Grantor,  Arcesilas,  Lacydes,  Aristotle,  Theophrastus, 
Zeno,  Cleanthes,  Chrysippus,  Antipater,  Carneades,  PanaB- 
lius,  Clitomachus,  Philo,  Antiochus,  Posidonius,  and  innu- 
merable others,  who  from  their  first  setting- out  never  re- 
turned home  again.  Now,  what  ignominy  can  a  wise  man 
be  affected  with  (for  it  is  of  such  a  one  that  I  am  speak- 
ing) who  can  be  guilty  of  nothing  which  deserves  it?  for 
there  is  no  occasion  to  comfort  one  who  is  banished  for 
his  deserts.  Lastly,  they  can  easily  reconcile  themselves 
to  every  accident  who  measure  all  their  objects  and  pur- 
suits in  life  by  the  standard  of  pleasure ;  so  that  in  what- 
ever place  that  is  supplied,  there  they  may  live  happily. 
Thus  what  Teucer  said  may  be  applied  to  every  case : 

"Wherever  I  am  happy  is  my  country." 

Socrates,  indeed,  when  he  was  asked  where  he  belong- 
ed to,  replied,  "  The  world  ;"  for  he  looked  upon  himself 
as  a  citizen  and  inhabitant  of  the  whole  world.  How  was 
it  with  T.  Altibutius?  Did  he  not  follow  his  philosoph- 
ical studies  Avith  the  greatest  satisfaction  at  Athens,  al- 
though he  was  banished?  which, however,  would  not  have 
happened  to  him  if  he  had  obeyed  the  laws  of  Epicurus 
and  lived  peaceably  in  the  republic.  In  what  was  Epicu- 
rus happier,  living  in  his  own  country,  than  Metrodorus, 
who  lived  at  Athens?  Or  did  Plato's  happiness  exceed 
that  of  Xenocrates,  or  Polemo,  or  Arcesilas?  Or  is  that 
city  to  be  valued  much  that  banishes  all  her  good  and 
wise  men  ?  Demaratus,  the  father  of  our  King  Tarquin, 
not  being  abVe  to  bear  the  tyrant  Cypselus,  fled  from 
Corinth  to  Tarquinii,  settled  there,  and  had  children.  Was 
it,  then,  an  unwise  act  in  him  to  prefer  the  liberty  of  ban- 
ishment to  slavery  at  home? 

XXXVIII.  Besides  the  emotions  of  the  mind,  all  griefs 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       203 

and  anxieties  are  assuaged  by  forgetting  them,  and  turn- 
ing our  thoughts  to  pleasure.  Therefore,  it  was  not  with- 
out reason  that  Epicurus  presumed  to  say  that  a  wise  man 
abounds  with  good  things,  because  he  may  always  have 
his  pleasures ;  from  whence  it  follows,  as  he  thinks,  that 
that  point  is  gained  which  is  the  subject  of  our  present 
inquiry,  that  a  wise  man  is  always  happy.  What !  though 
he  should  be  deprived  of  the  senses  of  seeing  and  hear- 
ing? Yes;  for  he  holds  those  things  very  cheap.  For, 
in  the  first  place,  what  are  the  pleasures  of  which  we  are 
deprived  by  that  dreadful  thing,  blindness  ?  For  though 
they  allow  other  pleasures  to  be  confined  to  the  senses, 
yet  the  things  which  are  perceived  by  the  sight  do  not 
depend  wholly  on  the  pleasure  the  eyes  receive ;  as  is  the 
case  when  we  taste,  smell,  touch,  or  hear ;  for,  in  respect 
of  all  these  senses,  the  organs  themselves  are  the  seat  of 
pleasure;  but  it  is  not  so  with  the  eyes.  For  it  is  the 
mind  which  is  entertained  by  what  we  see;  but  the  mind 
may  be  entertained  in  many  ways,  even  though  we  could 
not  see  at  all.  I  am  speaking  of  a  learned  and  a  wise 
man,  with  whom  to  think  is  to  live.  But  thinking  in  the 
case  of  a  wise  man  does  not  altogether  require  the  use  of 
his  eyes  in  his  investigations ;  for  if  night  does  not  strip 
him  of  his  happiness,  why  should  blindness,  which  re- 
sembles night,  liave  that  effect?  For  the  reply  of  Antip- 
ater  the  Cyrenaic  to  some  tvoracn  who  bewailed  his  be- 
ing blind,  though  it  is  a  little  too  obscene,  is  not  without 
its  significance.  "What  do  you  mean?"  saith  he;  "do 
you  think  the  night  can  furnish  no  pleasure?"  And  we 
find  by  his  magistracies  and  his  actions  that  old  Appius,^ 
too,  who  w\as  blind  for  many  years,  was  not  prevented 
from  doing  whatever  was  required  of  him  with  respect 
either  to  the  republic  or  his  own  affairs.  It  is  said  that 
C.  Drusus's  house  was  crowded  with  clients.  When 
they  whose  business  it  was  could  not  see  how  to  conduct 
themselves,  they  ap])lied  to  a  blind  guide. 

XXXIX.  When  I  was  a  boy,  Cn.  Aufidius,  a  blind  man, 

'  This  was  Appins  Claiulins  Caecus,  who  was  censoi*  310  B.C.,  and 
who,  according  to  Livy,  was  afflicted  with  blindness  by  the  Gods  for  per- 
suading the  Potitii  to  instruct  the  public  sen^ants  in  the  way  of  sacri- 
ficing to  Hercules.     He  it  was  who  made  the  Via  Appia. 


204  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

who  had  served  the  office  of  praetor,  not  only  gave  his 
opinion  in  the  Senate,  and  was  ready  to  assist  his  friends, 
but  wrote  a  Greek  history,  and  had  a  considerable  ac- 
quaintance with  literature.  Diodoius  the  Stoic  w^as  blind, 
and  lived  many  years  at  my  house«  lie,  indeed,  which 
is  scarcely  credible,  besides  applying  himself  more  than 
usual  to  philosophy,  and  playing  on  the  flute,  agreeably 
to  the  custom  of  the  Pythagoreans,  and  having  books 
read  to  him  night  and  day,  in  all  which  he  did  not  want 
eyes,  contrived  to  teach  geometry,  which,  one  would  think, 
could  hardly  be  done  without  the  assistance  of  eyes,  tell- 
ing his  scholars  how  and  where  to  draw  every  line.  They 
relate  of  Asclepiades,  a  native  of  Eretria,  and  no  ob- 
scure philosopher,  when  some  one  asked  him  what  incon- 
venience he  suffered  from  his  blindness,  that  his  reply  was, 
"He  was  at  the  expense  of  another  servant."  So  that, 
as  the  most  extreme  poverty  may  be  borne  if  you  please, 
as  is  daily  the  case  with  some  in  Greece,  so  blindness  may 
easily  be  borne,  provided  you  have  the  support  of  good 
health  in  other  respects.  Democritus  w^as  so  blind  he 
could  not  distinguish  white  from  black;  but  he  knew  the 
difference  between  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust,  honora- 
ble and  base,  the  useful  and  useless,  great  and  small  Thus 
one  may  live  happily  without  distinguishing  colors;  but 
without  acquainting  yourself  with  things, you  cannot;  and 
this  man  was  of  opinion  that  the  intense  application  of  the 
mind  was  taken  off  by  the  objects  that  presented  them- 
selves to  the  eye;  and  while  others  often  could  not  see 
what  was  before  their  feet,  he  travelled  through  all  infini- 
ty.    It  is  reported  also  that  Horner^  was  blind,  but  we  ob- 

^  The  fact  of*  Homer's  blindness  rests  on  a  passage  in  the  Hymn  to 
Apollo,  quoted  by  Thuc3^dides  as  a  genuine  work  of  Homer,  and  which 
is  thus  spoken  of  by  one  of  the  most  accomplished  scholars  that  this 
country  or  this  age  has  ever  produced:  "Tliey  are  indeed  beautiful 
verses;  and  if  none  worse  had  ever  been  attributed  to  Homer,  the  Prince 
of  Poets  would  have  had  little  reason  to  complain. 

"He  has  been  describing  the  Delian  festival  in  honor  of  Apollo  and 
Diana,  and  concludes  this  part  of  the  poem  with  an  address  to  the 
women  of  that  island,  to  whom  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  he  had  become 
familiarly  known  by  his  frequent  recitations : 

Xa/p6T€  3'  vfieTt  naffai,  k/J-eio  &e  Kal  fxeToniaBe 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.      205 

servo  his  painting  as  well  as  his  poetry.  What  country, 
Avhat  coast,  what  part  of  Greece,  what  military  attacks, 
what  dispositions  of  battle,  what  army,  what  ship,  what 
motions  of  men  and  animals,  can  be  mentioned  which  he 
has  not  described  in  such  a  manner  as  to  enable  us  to  see 
what  he  could  not  see  himself?  What,  then  !  can  we  im- 
agine that  Homer,  or  any  other  learned  man,  has  ever  been 
in  want  of  pleasure  and  entertainment  for  his  mind? 
Were  it  not  so,  would  Anaxagoras,  or  this  very  Democri- 
tus,  have  left  their  estates  and  patrimonies,  and  given  them- 
selves up  to  the  pursuit  of  acquiring  this  divine  pleasure  ? 
It  is  thus  that  the  poets  who  have  represented  Tiresias  the 
Augur  as  a  wise  man  and  blind  never  exhibit  him  as  be- 
wailing his  blindness.  And  Homer,  too,  after  he  had  de- 
scribed Polyphemus  as  a  monster  and  a  w^ild  man,  repre- 
sents him  talking  with  his  ram,  and  speaking  of  his  good 
fortune,  inasmuch  as  he  could  go  wherever  he  pleased  and 
touch  what  he  would.  And  so  far  he  was  right,  for  that 
Cyclops  was  a  being  of  not  much  more  understanding  than 
his  ram. 

XL.  Now,  as  to  the  evil  of  being  deaf.  M.  Crassus  was 
a  little  thick  of  hearing;  but  it  was  more  uneasiness  to 
him  that  he  heard  himself  ill  spoken  of,  though,  in  my 
opinion,  he  did  not  deserve  it.  Our  Epicureans  cannot 
understand  Greek,  nor  the  Greeks  Latin :  now,  they  are 
deaf  reciprocally  as  to  each  other's  language,  and  we  are 
all  truly  deaf  with  regard  to  those  innumerable  languages 
which  we  do  not  understand.  They  do  not  hear  the  voice 
of  the  harper;  but,  then,  they  do  not  hear  the  grating  of  a 
saw  when  it  is  setting,  or  the  grunting  of  a  hog  when  his 

h/0d6^  uveipnrai  ^eTvof  raXaireiptos  k^Ouiv 
w  Kovpat,  rli  6'  v/jifiiv  uvijp  ridicrroi  uoidwv 
evOdde  nwXeiTai  Kal  xeoj  repnea-Oe  fidXicTTa; 
vfieTs  6'  ev  /uaXa  iraaai  vnoKpivaaOe  u^'  ritiiav, 
Tf^Xor  uvijp,  o]Ket  de  X/a>  evl  TraiwaXoeacrr], 
Tov  Traaai  fMeTontcrOev  upiaTevovaiv  uoidai. 

Virgins,  forewell— and  oh  !  remember  me 
Hereafter,  when  some  stranger  from  the  sea, 
A  hapless  wanderer,  may  your  isle  explore, 
And  ask  you,  '  Maids,  of  all  the  bards  yon  boast, 
Who  sings  the  sweetest,  and  delights  you  most?' 
Oh  !  answer  all,  'A  blind  old  man,  and  poor. 
Sweetest  he  sings,  and  dwells  on  Chios'  rocky  shore.'-' 

Coleridge's  Introduction  to  the  Stxidy  of  the  Greek  Classic  Poei& 


20a  THE  TUSCULAN  DISPUTATIONS. 

throat  is  being  cut,  nor  the  roaring  of  the  sea  when  they 
are  desirous  of  rest.  And  if  they  shoukl  chance  to  be  fond 
of  singing,  they  ought,  in  the  first  place,  to  consider  that 
many  wise  men  lived  happily  before  music  was  discov- 
ered; besides,  they  may  have  more  pleasure  in  reading 
verses  than  in  hearing  them  sung.  Then,  as  I  before  re- 
ferred the  blind  to  the  pleasures  of  hearing,  so  I  may  the 
deaf  to  the  pleasures  of  sight :  moreover,  whoever  can  con- 
verse with  himself  doth  not  need  the  conversation  of  an- 
other. But  suppose  all  these  misfortunes  to  meet  in  one 
person :  suppose  him  blind  and  deaf — let  him  be  afflicted 
with  the  sharpest  pains  of  body,  which,  in  the  first  place, 
generally  of  themselves  make  an  end  of  him ;  still,  should 
they  continue  so  long,  and  the  pain  be  so  exquisite,  that  we 
should  be  unable  to  assign  any  reason  for  our  being  so  af- 
flicted—  still,  why,  good  Gods!  should  we  be  under  any 
difilculty?  For  there  is  a  retreat  at  hand:  death  is  that 
retreat — a  shelter  where  we  shall  forever  be  insensible. 
Theodorus  said  to  Lysimachus,  who  threatened  him  with 
death,  "It  is  a  great  matter,  indeed,  for  you  to  have  ac- 
quired the  power  of  a  Spanish  fly !"  When  Perses  en- 
treated Paulus  not  to  lead  him  in  triumph, "  That  is  a 
matter  which  you  have  in  your  own  power,"  said  Paulus, 
I  said  many  things  about  death  in  our  first  day's  disputa- 
tion, when  death  was  the  subject;  and  not  a  little  the  next 
day,  when  I  treated  of  pain  ;  which  things  if  you  recollect, 
there  can  be  no  danger  of  your  looking  upon  death  as  un- 
desirable, or,  at  least,  it  will  not  be  dreadful. 

That  custom  which  is  common  among  the  Grecians 
at  their  banquets  should,  in  my  opinion,  be  observed  in 
life:  Drink,  say  they,  or  leave  the  company;  and  rightly 
enough ;  for  a  guest  should  either  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
drinking  with  others,  or  else  not  stay  till  he  meets  with 
affronts  from  those  that  are  in  liquor.  Thus,  those  in- 
juries of  fortune  which  you  cannot  bear  you  should  flee 
from. 

XLT.  This  is  the  very  same  which  is  said  by  Epicu- 
rus and  Hieronymus.  Now,  if  those  philosophers,  whose 
opinion  it  is  that  virtue  has  no  power  of  itself,  and  who 
say  that  the  conduct  which  we  denominate  honorable  and 
laudable  is  really  nothing,  and  is  only  an  empty  circum- 


WHETHER  VIRTUE  ALONE  BE  SUFFICIENT.       207 

stance  set  off  with  an  unmeaning  sound,  can  nevertheless 
maintain  that  a  wise  man  is  always  happy,  what,  think 
you,  may  be  done  by  the  Socratic  and  Platonic  philoso- 
phers  ?  Some  of  these  allow  such  superiority  to  the  goods 
of  the  mind  as  quite  to  eclipse  what  concerns  the  body 
and  all  external  circumstances.  But  others  do  not  admit 
these  to  be  goods ;  they  make  everything  depend  on  the 
mind :  whose  disputes  Carneades  used,  as  a  sort  of  hon- 
orary arbitrator,  to  determine.  For,  as  what  seemed 
goods  to  the  Peripatetics  were  allowed  to  be  advantages 
by  the  Stoics,  and  as  the  Peripatetics  allowed  no  more  to 
riches,  good  health,  and  other  things  of  that  sort  than  the 
Stoics,  when  these  things  were  considered  according  to 
their  reality,  and  not  by  mere  names,  his  opinion  was  that 
there  was  no  ground  for  disagreeing.  Therefore,  let  the 
philosophers  of  other  schools  see  how  they  can  establish 
this  point  also.  It  is  very  agreeable  to  me  that  they  make 
some  professions  worthy  of  being  uttered  by  the  mouth* 
of  a  philosopher  with  regard  to  a  wise  man's  having  al- 
ways the  means  of  living  happily. 

XLII.  But  as  w^e  are  to  depart  in  the  morning,  let  us 
remember  these  five  days'  discussions ;  thongh,  indeed,  I 
think  I  shall  commit  them  to  writing :  for  how  can  I  bet- 
ter employ  the  leisure  which  I  have,  of  whatever  kind  it 
is,  and  w^hatever  it  be  owing  to  ?  And  I  will  send  these 
five  books  also  to  my  friend  Brutus,  by  whom  I  was  not 
only  incited  to  write  on  philosophy,  but,  I  may  say,  pro- 
voked. And  by  so  doing  it  is  not  easy  to  say  what  service 
I  may  be  of  to  others.  At  all  events,  in  my  own  various 
and  acute  afilictions,  which  surround  me  on  all  sides,  I 
cannot  find  any  better  comfort  for  myself. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 


BOOK  I. 

I.  There  are  many  things  in  philosophy,  my  dear  Bru« 
tus,  which  are  not  as  yet  fully  explained  to  us,  and  par- 
ticularly (as  you  very  well  know)  that  most  obscure  and 
difficult  question  concerning  the  Nature  of  the  Gods,  so 
extremely  necessary  both  towards  a  knowledge  of  the  hu- 
man mind  and  the  practice  of  true  religion :  concerning 
which  the  opinions  of  men  are  so  various,  and  so  different 
from  each  other,  as  to  lead  strongly  to  the  inference  that 
ignorance^  is  the  cause,  or  origin,  of  philoso23hy,  and  that 
the  Academic  philosophers  have  been  prudent  in  refusing 
their  assent  to  things  uncertain:  for  what  is  more  unbe- 
coming to  a  wise  man  than  to  judge  rashly?  or  what  rash- 
ness is  so  unworthy  of  the  gravity  and  stabiUty  of  a  phi- 
losopher as  either  to  maintain  false  opinions,  or,  without 
the  least  hesitation,  to  support  and  defend  what  he  has 
not  thoroughly  examined  and  does  not  clearly  compre- 
hend ? 

In  the  question  now  before  us,  the  greater  part  of  man- 
kind have  united  to  acknowledge  that  which  is  most  prob- 
able, and  which  we  are  all  by  nature  led  to  suppose,  name- 
ly, that  there  are  Gods.  Protagoras^  doubted  whether 
there  were  any.  Diagoras  the  Melian  and  Theodorus  of 
Cyrene  entirely  believed  there  were  no  such  beings.  But 
they  who  have  affirmed  that  there  are  Gods,  have  express- 
ed such  a  variety  of  sentiments  on  the  subject,  and  the 
disagreement  between  them  is  so  great,  that  it  would  be 

'  Some  read  scientiam  and  some  inscientiam ;  the  latter  of  which  is 
preferred  by  some  of  the  best  editors  and  commentators. 

^  For  a  short  account  of  these  ancient  Greek  philosophers,  see  the 
sketch  prefixed  to  the  Academics  (Classical  Library). 


210  THE  NATURE  OF  THE   GODS. 

tiresome  to  enumerate  their  opinions;  for  they  give  ns 
many  statements  respecting  the  forms  of  the  Gods,  and 
their  places  of  abode,  and  the  employment  of  their  lives. 
And  these  are  matters  on  which  the  philosophers  differ 
with  the  most  exceeding  earnestness.  But  the  most  con- 
siderable part  of  the  dispute  is,  whether  they  are  wholly 
inactive,  totally  unemployed,  and  free  from  all  care  and 
administration  of  affairs;  or,  on  the  contrary,  whether  all 
things  were  made  and  constituted  by  them  from  the  begin- 
ning ;  and  whether  they  will  continue  to  be  actuated  and 
governed  by  them  to  eternity.  This  is  one  of  the  greatest 
points  in  debate;  and  unless  this  is  decided, mankind  must 
necessarily  remain  in  the  greatest  of  errors,  and  ignorant 
of  what  is  most  important  to  be  known. 

II.  For  there  are  some  philosophers,  both  ancient  and 
modern,  who  have  conceived  that  the  Gods  take  not  the 
least  cognizance  of  human  affairs.  But  if  their  doctrine 
be  true,  of  what  avail  is  piety,  sanctity,  or  religion  ?  for 
these  are  feelings  and  marks  of  devotion  which  are  offered 
to  the  Gods  by  men  with  uprightness  and  holiness,  on  the 
ground  that  men  are  the  objects  of  the  attention  of  the 
Gods,  and  that  many  benefits  are  conferred  by  the  immor- 
tal Gods  on  the  human  race.  But  if  the  Gods  have  neither 
the  power  nor  the  inclination  to  help  us;  if  they  take  no 
care  of  us,  and  pay  no  regard  to  our  actions ;  and  if  there 
is  no  single  advantage  which  can  possibly  accrue  to  the 
life  of  man;  then  what  reason  can  we  have  to  pay  any 
adoration,  or  any  honors,  or  to  j^rcfer  any  prayers  to  them? 
Piety,  like  the  other  virtues,  cannot  have  any  connection 
with  vain  show  or  dissimulation ;  and  without  piety,  nei- 
ther sanctity  nor  religion  can  be  supported;  the  total  sub- 
version of  which  must  be  attended  with  great  confusion 
and  disturbance  in  life. 

I  do  not  even  know,  if  we  cast  off  piety  towards  the 
Gods,  but  that  faith,  and  all  the  associations  of  human 
life,  and  that  most  excellent  of  all  virtues,  justice,  may 
perish  with.it. 

There  are  other  philosophers,  and  those,  too,  very  great 
and  illustrious  men,  who  conceive  the  whole  world  to  be  di- 
rected and  governed  by  the  will  and  wisdom  of  the  Gods; 
nor  do  they  stop  here,  but  conceive  likewise  that  the  Deities 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  211 

consult  and  provide  for  the  preservation  of  mankind.  For 
they  think  that  the  fruits,  and  the  produce  of  the  earth, 
and  the  seasons,  and  the  variety  of  weathei',  and  the  change 
of  climates,  by  which  all  the  productions  of  the  eartli  are 
brought  to  maturity,  are  designed  by  the  immortal  Gods 
for  the  use  of  man.  They  instance  many  other  things, 
which  shall  be  related  in  these  books;  and  which  would 
almost  induce  us  to  believe  that  the  immortal  Gods  had 
made  them  all  expressly  and  solely  for  tlie  benefit  and  ad- 
vantage of  men.  Against  these  opinions  Carneades  has 
advanced  so  much  that  what  he  has  said  should  excite  a 
desire  in  men  who  are  not  naturally  slothful  to  search 
after  truth ;  for  there  is  no  subject  on  which  the  learned 
as  well  as  the  unlearned  differ  so  strenuously  as  in  this; 
and  since  their  opinions  are  so  various,  and  so  repugnant 
one  to  another,  it  is  possible  that  none  of  them  may  be, 
and  absolutely  impossible  that  more  than  one  should  be, 
rig]  it. 

III.  Now,  in  a  cause  like  this,  I  may  be  able  to  pacify 
well-meaning  opposers,  and  to  confute  invidious  censurers, 
so  as  to  induce  the  latter  to  repent  of  their  unreasonable 
contradiction,  and  the  former  to  be  glad  to  learn  ;  for  they 
who  admonish  one  in  a  friendly  spirit  should  be  instruct- 
ed, they  who  attack  one  like  enemies  should  be  repelled. 
But  I  observe  that  the  several  books  which  I  have  lately 
published^  have  occasioned  much  noise  and  various  dis- 
course about  them ;  some  people  w^ondering  what  the  rea- 
son has  been  why  I  have  applied  myself  so  suddenly  to 
the  study  of  philosophy,  and  others  desirous  of  knowing 
what  my  opinion  is  on  such  subjects.  I  likewise  per- 
ceive that  many  people  wonder  at  my  following  that  phi- 
losophy* chiefly  which  seems  to  take  away  the  light,  and 
to  bury  and  envelop  things  in  a  kind  of  artificial  night,  and 
that  I  should  so  unexpectedly  have  taken  up  the  defence 
of  a  school  that  has  been  long  neglected  and  forsaken. 
But  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  this  application  to  phil- 
osophical studies  has  been  sudden  on  my  part.     I  have  ap- 

'  Cicero  wrote  his  philosophical  works  in  the  last  three  years  of  his 
life.  When  he  wrote  this  piece,  he  was  in  the  sixty-third  year  of  his 
age,  in  the  year  of  Rome  709. 

^  The  Academic. 


212        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

plied  myself  to  them  from  my  youth,  at  no  small  expense 
of  time  and  trouble  ;  and  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  phi- 
losophizing a  great  deal  when  I  least  seemed  to  think  about 
it ;  for  the  truth  of  which  I  appeal  to  my  orations,  which 
are  filled  with  quotations  from  philosophers,  and  to  my  in- 
timacy with  those  very  learned  men  who  frequented  my 
house  and  conversed  daily  with  me,  particularly  Diodorus, 
Philo,  Antiochus,  and  Posidonius,^  under  whom  I  was  bred; 
and  if  all  the  precepts  of  philosophy  are  to  have  reference 
to  the  conduct  of  life,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  I  have  ad- 
vanced, both  in  public  and  private  affairs,  only  such  prin- 
ciples as  may  be  supported  by  reason  and  authority. 

ly.  But  if  any  one  should  ask  what  has  induced  me,  in 
the  decline  of  life,  to  write  on  these  subjects,  nothing  is 
more  easily  answered ;  for  when  I  found  myself  entirely 
disengaged  from  business,  and  the  commonwealth  reduced 
to  the  necessity  of  being  governed  by  the  direction  and 
care  of  one  man,^  I  thought  it  becoming,  for  the  sake  of 
the  public,  to  instruct  my  countrymen  in  philosophy,  and 
that  it  would  be  of  importance,  and  much  to  the  honor  and 
commendation  of  our  city,  to  have  such  great  and  excel- 
lent subjects  introduced  in  the  Latin  tongue.  I  the  less 
repent  of  my  undertaking,  since  I  plainly  see  that  I  have 
excited  in  many  a  desire,  not  only  of  learning,  but  of  writ- 
ing; for  we  have  had  several  Romans  well  grounded  in 
the  learning  of  the  Greeks  who  were  unable  to  communi- 
cate to  their  countrymen  what  they  had  learned,  because 
they  looked  upon  it  as  impossible  to  express  that  in  Latin 
which  they  had  received  from  the  Greeks.  In  this  point 
I  think  I  have  succeeded  so  well  that  Avhat  I  have  done  is 
not,  even  in  copiousness  of  expression,  inferior  to  that  lan- 
cruaoje. 

Another  inducement  to  it  was  a  melancholy  disposition 
of  mind,  and  the  great  and  heavy  oppression  of  fortune 
that  was  upon  me ;  from  which,  if  I  could  have  found  any 
surer  remedy,  I  would  not  have  sought  relief  in  this  pur- 
suit. But  I  could  procure  ease  by  no  means  better  than 
by  not  only  applying  myself  to  books,  but  by  devoting  my- 

*  Diodonis  and  Posidonius  were  Stoics ;  Philo  and  Antiochus  were 
Academics ;  but  the  latter  afterward  inclined  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Stoics. 
'  Julius  Cajsar. 


TPIE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  213 

self  to  tlie  examination  of  the  whole  body  of  philosophy. 
And  every  part  and  branch  of  this  is  readily  discovered 
when  every  question  is  propounded  in  writing;  for  there  is 
such  an  admirable  continuation  and  series  of  things  that 
each  seems  connected  with  the  other,  and  all  appear  linked 
together  and  united. 

V.  Now,  those  men  who  desire  to  know  my  own  private 
opinion  on  every  particular  subject  have  more  curiosity  than 
is  necessary.  For  the  force  of  reason  in  disputation  is  to 
be  sought  after  rather  than  authority,  since  the  authority 
of  the  teacher  is  often  a  disadvantage  to  those  who  are 
willing  to  learn;  as  they  refuse  to  use  their  own  judgment, 
and  rely  implicitly  on  liim  whom  they  make  choice  of  for 
a  preceptor.  Nor  could  I  ever  approve  this  custom  of  the 
Pythagoreans,  who,  when  they  affirmed  anything  in  dispu- 
tation, and  were  asked  why  it  was  so,  used  to  give  this  an- 
swer :  "  He  himself  has  said  it ;"  and  this  "  he  himself,"  it 
seems,  was  Pythagoras.  Such  was  the  force  of  prejudice 
and  opinion  tiiat  his  authority  was  to  prevail  even  without 
argument  or  reason. 

They  who  wonder  at  my  being  a  follower  of  this  sect  in 
particular  may  find  a  satisfactory  answer  in  my  four  books 
of  Academical  Questions.  But  I  deny  that  I  have  under- 
taken the  protection  of  what  is  neglected  and  forsaken ; 
for  the  opinions  of  men  do  not  die  with  them,  though  they 
may  perhaps  want  the  author's  explnnation.  This  manner 
of  philosophizing,  of  disputing  all  things  and  assuming 
nothing  certainly,  was  begun  by  Socrates,  revived  by  Ar- 
cesilaus,  confirmed  by  Carneades,  and  has  descended,  with 
all  its  power,  even  to  the  present  age  ;  but  I  am  informed 
that  it  is  now  almost  exploded  even  in  Greece.  How^ever, 
I  do  not  impute  that  to  any  fault  in  the  institution  of  the 
Academy,  but  to  the  negligence  of  mankind.  If  it  is  difli- 
cult  to  know  all  the  doctrines  of  any  one  sect,  how  much 
more  is  it  to  know  those  of  every  sect !  which,  however, 
must  necessarily  be  known  to  those  who  resolve,  for  the 
sake  of  discovering  truth,  to  dispute  for  or  against  all  phi- 
losophers without  partiality. 

I  do  not  profess  myself  to  be  master  of  this  difl^icult  and 
noble  faculty;  but  I  do  assert  that  I* have  endeavored  to 
make  myself  so  ;  and  it  is  impossible  that  they  who  choose 


214        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

tliis  m.innei-  of  pliilosophizing  should  not  meet  at  least  with 
something  worthy  their  pursuit.  I  have  spoken  more 
fully  on  this  head  in  another  place.  But  as  some  are  too 
slow  of  apprehension,  and  some  too  careless,  men  stand  in 
perpetual  need  of  caution.  For  we  are  not  people  who  be- 
lieve that  there  is  nothing  whatever  which  is  true;  but  we 
say  that  some  falsehoods  are  so  blended  with  all  truths, 
and  have  so  great  a  resemblance  to  them,  that  there  is  no 
certain  rule  for  judging  of  or  assenting  to  propositions; 
from  which  this  maxim  also  follows,  that  many  things  are 
piobable,  which,  though  they  are  not  evident  to  the  senses, 
have  still  so  persuasive  and  beautiful  an  aspect  that  a  wise 
man  chooses  to  direct  his  conduct  by  them. 

VI.  Now,  to  free  myself  from  the  reproach  of  partiality, 
I  propose  to  lay  before  you  the  opinions  of  various  phi- 
losophers concerning  the  nature  of  the  Gods,  by  which 
means  all  men  may  judge  which  of  them  are  consistent 
with  truth ;  and  if  all  agree  together,  or  if  any  one  shall 
be  found  to  have  discovered  what  may  be  absolutely  called 
truth,  I  will  then  give  up  the  Academy  as  vain  and  arro- 
gant. So  I  may  cry  out,  in  the  w^ords  of  Statins,  in  the 
Synephebi, 

Ye  Gods,  I  call  upon,  require,  pray,  beseech,  entreat,  and  implore  the 
attention  of  my  countrymen  all,  both  young  and  old ; 

yet  not  on  so  trifling  an  occasion  as  when  the  person  in  the 
play  complains  that. 

In  this  city  we  have  discovered  a  most  flagrant  iniquity :  here  is  a  pro- 
fessed courtesan,  who  refuses  money  from  her  lover ; 

but  that  they  may  attend,  know,  and  consider  what  senti- 
ments they  ought  to  preserve  concerning  religion,  piety, 
sanctity,  ceremonies,  faith,  oaths,  temples,  shrines,  and  sol- 
emn sacrifices ;  what  they  ought  to  think  of  the  auspices 
over  which  I  preside;^  for  all  these  have  relation  to  the 
present  question.  The  manifest  disagreement  among  the 
most  learned  on  this  subject  creates  doubts  in  those  who 
imagine  they  have  some  certain  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject. 

Which  fact  I  have  often  taken  notice  of  elsewhere,  and 
*  Cicero  was  one  of  the  College  of  Augurs. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  215 

I  did  so  more  especially  at  the  discussion  that  was  held  at 
my  friend  C.  Cotta's  concerning  the  immortal  Gods,  and 
which  was  carried  on  with  the  greatest  care,  accuracy,  and 
precision ;  for  coming  to  him  at  the  time  of  tlie  Latin 
holidays,*  according  to  his  own  invitation  and  message 
from  him,  I  found  him  sitting  in  his  study,^  and  in  a  dis- 
course with  C.  Velleius,  the  senator,  who  was  then  reputed 
by  the  Epicureans  the  ablest  of  our  countrymen.  Q.  Lu- 
cilius  Balbus  was  likewise  there,  a  great  proficient  in  the 
doctrine  of  the  Stoics,  and  esteemed  equal  to  the  most  em- 
inent of  the  Greeks  in  that  part  of  knowledge.  As  soon 
as  Cotta  saw  me.  You  are  come,  says  he,  very  seasonably ; 
for  I  am  having  a  dispute  with  Velleius  on  an  important 
subject,  which,  considering  the  nature  of  your  studies,  is 
not  improper  for  you  to  join  in. 

VII.  Indeed,  says  I,  I  think  I  am  come  very  seasonably, 
as  you  say;  for  here  are  three  chiefs  of  three  principal 
sects  met  together.  If  M.  Piso^  was  present,  no  sect  of 
philosophy  that  is  in  any  esteem  would  want  an  advocate. 
If  Antiochus's  book,  replies  Cotta,  which  he  lately  sent  to 
Balbus,  says  true,  you  have  no  occasion  to  wish  for  your 
friend  Piso ;  for  Autiochus  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  Sto- 
ics do  not  differ  from  the  Peripatetics  in  fact,  though  they 
do  in  words  ;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  know  wliat  you  think 
of  that  book,  Balbus.  I?  says  he.  I  wonder  that  Auti- 
ochus, a  man  of  the  clearest  apprehension,  should  not  see 
what  a  vast  difference  there  is  between  the  Stoics,  who 
distinguish  the  honest  and  the  profitable,  not  only  in  name, 
but  absolutely  in  kind,  and  the  Peripatetics,  who  blend  the 
honest  with  the  profitable  in  such  a  manner  that  they  dif- 
fer only  in  degrees  and  proportion,  and  not  in  kind.  This 
is  not  a  little  difference  in  words,  but  a  great  one  in  things ; 

'  The  LatinjB  Ferioe  was  originally  a  festival  of  the  Latins,  altered  by 
Tarquinius  Superbus  into  a  Roman  one.  It  was  held  in  the  Alban 
-l^lount,  in  honor  of  Jupiter  Latiaris.  This  holiday  lasted  six  days :  it 
was  not  held  at  any  fixed  time ;  but  the  consul  was  never  allowed  to 
take  the  field  till  he  had  held  them.— Vide  Smith,  Diet.  Gr.  and  Rom. 
Ant.,  p.  414. 

^  Exhedra,  the  word  used  by  Cicero,  means  a  stndy,  or  place  where  dis- 
putes were  held. 

®  M.  Piso  was  a  Peripatetic.  The  four  great  sects  were  the  Stoics,  tha 
Peripatetics,  the  Academics,  and  the  Epicureans. 


216        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

but  of  this  hereafter.  Now,  if  you  think  fit,  let  us  returii 
to  what  we  began  with. 

Witli  all  my  heart,  says  Cotta.  But  that  this  visitor 
(looking  at  me),  who  is  just  come  in,  may  not  be  ignorant 
of  what  we  are  upon,  I  will  inform  him  that  we  were  dis- 
coursing on  the  nature  of  the  Gods;  concerning  which,  as 
it  is  a  subject  that  always  appeared  very  obscure  to  me,  I 
prevailed  on  Velleius  to  give  us  the  sentiments  of  Epicu- 
rus. Therefore,  continues  he,  if  it  is  not  troublesome,  Vel- 
leius, repeat  Avhat  you  have  already  stated  to  us.  I  will, 
says  he,  though  this  new-comer  will  be  no  advocate  for 
me,  but  for  you ;  for  you  have  both,  adds  he,  with  a  smile, 
learned  from  the  same  Philo  to  be  certain  of  nothing.^ 
What  we  have  learned  from  him,  replied  I,  Cotta  will  dis- 
cover; but  I  would  not  have  you  think  I  am  come  as  an 
assistant  to  him,  but  as  an  auditor,  with  an  impartial  and 
unbiassed  mind,  and  not  bound  by  any  obligation  to  de- 
fend any  particular  principle,  whether  I  like  or  dislike  it. 

VIII.  After  this,  Velleius,  with  the  confidence  peculiar 
to  his  sect,  dreading  nothing  so  much  as  to  seem  to  doubt 
of  anything,  began  as  if  he  had  just  then  descended  from 
the  council  of  the  Gods,  and  Epicurus's  intervals  of  worlds. 
Do  not  attend,  eays  he,  to  these  idle  and  imaginary  tales ; 
nor  to  the  operator  and  builder  of  the  World,  the  God 
of  Plato's  Timaeus ;  nor  to  the  old  prophetic  dame,  the 
Upuroia  of  the  Stoics,  which  the  Latins  call  Providence; 
nor  to  that  round,  that  burning,  revolving  deity,  the  World, 
endowed  with  sense  and  understanding;  the  prodigies  and 
wonders,  not  of  inquisitive  philosophers,  but  of  dreamers  ! 

For  with  what  eyes  of  the  mind  was  your  Plato  able  to 
see  that  workhouse  of  such  stupendous  toil,  in  which  he 
makes  the  world  to  be  modelled  and  built  by  God?  What 
materials,  what  tools,  what  bars,  what  machines,  what  ser- 
vants, were  employed  in  so  vast  a  work?  How  could  the 
air,  fire,  water,  and  earth  pay  obedience  and  submit  to  the 
will  of  the  architect?  From  -whence  arose  those  five 
forms,'^  of  which  the  rest  were  composed,  so  aptly  con- 
tributing to  frame  the  mind  and  produce  the  senses  ?     It 

'  It  was  a  prevailing  tenet  of  the  Academics  that  tliere  is  no  certain 
knowledge. 

*  The  five  forms  of  Plato  are  these :  oi'ola,  ravrbv,  trepov,  oTdoig,  dvTjaLq. 


THE  NATURE   OF  THE  GODS.  217 

is  tedious  to  go  tliroiigh  all,  as  they  are  of  such  a  sort  that 
they  look  more  like  things  to  be  desired  than  to  be  dis- 
covered. 

But,  Avhat  is  more  remarkable,  he  gives  us  a  world  which 
has  been  not  only  created,  but,  if  I  may  so  say,  in  a  manner 
formed  with  hands,  and  yet  he  says  it  is  eternal.  Do  you 
conceive  him  to  liave  the  least  skill  in  natural  philosophy 
who  is  capable  of  thinking  anything  to  be  everlasting  that 
had  a  beginning?  For  what  can  possibly  ever  have  been 
put  together  which  cannot  be  dissolved  again?  Or  what 
is  there  that  had  a  beginning  which  will  not  have  an  end  ? 
If  your  Providence,  Lucilius,  is- the  same  as  Plato's  God,  I 
ask  you,  as  before,  who  were  the  assistants,  what  were  the 
engines,  what  was  the  plan  and  preparation  of  the  Avhole 
work?  If  it  is  not  the  same, then  why  did  she  make  the 
world  mortal,  and  not  everlasting,  like  Plato's  God  ? 

IX.  But  I  would  demand  of  you  both,  why  these  world- 
builders  started  up  so  suddenly,  and  lay  dormant  for  so 
many  ages?  For  we  are  not  to  conclude  that,  if  there 
was  no  w^orld,  there  w^ere  therefore  no  ages.  I  do  not  now 
speak  of  such  ages  as  are  finished  by  a  certain  number  of 
days  and  nights  in  annual  courses ;  for  I  acknowledge 
that  those  could  not  be  without  the  revolution  of  the 
world ;  but  there  was  a  certain  eternity  from  infinite  time, 
not  measured  by  any  circumscription  of  seasons ;  but 
how  that  was  in  space  we  cannot  understand,  because  we 
cannot  possibly  have  even  the  slightest  idea  of  time  before 
time  was.  I  desire,  therefore,  to  know,  Balbus,  why  this 
Providence  of  yours  was  idle  for  such  an  immense  space 
of  time  ?  Did  she  avoid  labor  ?  But  that  could  have  no 
effect  on  the  Deity ;  nor  could  there  be  any  labor,  since 
all  nature,  air,  fire,  earth,  and  water  would  obey  the  di- 
vine essence.  What  was  it  that  incited  the  Deity  to  act 
the  part  of  an  sedile,  to  illuminate  and  decorate  the  world  ? 
If  it  was  in  order  that  God  might  be  the  better  accommo- 
dated in  his  habitation,  then  he  must  have  been  dwelling 
an  infinite  length  of  time  before  in  darkness  as  in  a  dun- 
geon. But  do  we  imagine  that  he  was  afterward  delighted 
with  that  variety  with  which  we  see  the  heaven  and  earth 
adorned ?  What  entertainment  could  that  be  to  the  Deity? 
If  it  was  any,  he  would  not  have  been  without  it  so  long. 

10 


218        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Oi"  were  these  things  made,  as  you  almost  assert,  by 
God  for  the  sake  of  men  ?  Was  it  for  the  wise  ?  If  so, 
tlien  this  great  design  was  adopted  for  the  sake  of  a  very 
small  number.  Or  for  the  sake  of  fools?  First  of  all, 
there  was  no  reason  why  God  should  consult  the  advan- 
tage of  the  wicked;  and,  further,  what  could  be  his  object 
in  doing  so,  since  all  fools  are,  without  doubt,  the  most 
miserable  of  men,  chiefly  because  they  are  fools?  For 
what  can  we  pronounce  more  deplorable  than  folly  ?  Be- 
sides, there  are  many  inconveniences  in  life  which  the 
wise  can  learn  to  think  lightly  of  by  dwelling  rather  on 
the  advantages  which  they  receive;  but  which  fools  are 
unable  to  avoid  when  they  are  coming,  or  to  bear  when 
they  are  come. 

X.  They  who  affirm  the  world  to  be  an  animated  and 
intelligent  being  have  by  no  means  discovered  the  nature 
of  the  mind,  nor  are  able  to  conceive  in  what  form  that 
essence  can  exist;  but  of  that  I  shall  speak  more  hereaf- 
ter. At  present  I  must  express  my  surprise  at  the  weak- 
ness of  those  who  endeavor  to  make  it  out  to  be  not  only 
animated  and  immortal,  but  likewise  happy,  and  round, 
because  Plato  says  that  is  the  most  beautiful  form ;  where- 
as I  think  a  cylinder,  a  square,  a  cone,  or  a  pyramid  more 
beautiful.  But  what  life  do  they  attribute  to  that  round 
Deity?  Truly  it  is  a  being  whirled  about  with  a  celerity 
to  which  nothing  can  be  even  conceived  by  the  imagina- 
tion as  equal;  nor  can  I  imagine  how  a  settled  mind  and 
happy  life  can  consist  in  such  motion,  the  least  degree  of 
which  would  be  troublesome  to  us.  Why,  therefore,  should 
it  not  be  considered  troublesome  also  to  the  Deity  ?  For 
the  earth  itself,  as  it  is  part  of  the  world,  is  part  also  of  the 
Deity.  We  see  vast  tracts  of  land  barren  and  uninhabi- 
table; some,  because  they  are  scorched  by  the  too  near 
approach  of  the  sun ;  others,  because  they  are  bound  up 
with  frost  and  snow,  through  the  great  distance  which  the 
sun  is  from  them.  Therefore,  if  the  world  is  a  Deity,  as 
these  are  parts  of  the  world,  some  of  the  Deity's  limbs 
must  be  said  to  be  scorched,  and  some  frozen. 

These  are  your  doctrines,  Lucilius ;  but  what  those  of 
others  are  I  will  endeavor  to  ascertain  by  tracing  them 
back  from  the  earliest  of  ancient  philosophers.     Thales 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  219 

the  Milesian,  who  first  inquired  after  such  subjects,  assert- 
ed water  to  be  the  origin  of  things,  and  that  God  was  that 
mind  which  formed  all  things  from  water.  If  the  Gods 
can  exist  without  corporeal  sense,  and  if  there  can  be  a 
mind  without  a  body,  why  did  he  annex  a  mind  to  water? 

It  was  Anaximander's  opinion  that  the  Gods  were 
born;  that  after  a  great  length  of  time  they  died;  and 
that  they  are  innumerable  worlds.  But  what  conception 
can  we  possibly  have  of  a  Deity  who  is  not  eternal? 

Anaxitnenes,  after  him,  taught  that  the  air  is  God,  and 
that  he  was  generated,  and  that  he  is  immense,  infinite, 
and  always  in  motion ;  as  if  air,  which  has  no  form,  could 
possibly  be  God ;  for  the  Deity  must  necessarily  be  not 
only  of  some  form  or  other,  but  of  the  most  beautiful 
form.  Besides,  is  not  everything  that  had  a  begii.ning 
subject  to  mortality  ? 

XI.  Anaxagoras,  who  received  liis  learning  from  Anax- 
imenes,  was  the  first  w^ho  affirmed  the  system  and  dispo- 
sition of  all  things  to  be  contrived  and  perfected  by  the 
power  and  reason  of  an  infinite  mind ;  in  which  infinity  he 
did  not  perceive  that  there  could  be  no  conjunction  of 
sense  and  motion,  nor  any  sense  in  the  least  degree,  where 
nature  herself  could  feel  no  impulse.  If  he  would  have 
this  mind  to  be  a  sort  of  animal,  then  there  must  be  some 
more  internal  principle  from  whence  that  animal  should 
receive  its  appellation.  But  what  can  be  more  internal 
than  the  mind  ?  Let  it,  therefore,  be  clothed  with  an  ex- 
ternal body.  But  this  is  not  agreeable  to  his  doctrine; 
but  we  are  utterly  unable  to  conceive  how  a  pure  simple 
mind  can  exist  without  any  substance  annexed  to  it. 

Alcmaeon  of  Crotona,  in  attributing  a  divinity  to  the 
sun,  the  moon,  and  the  rest  of  the  stars,  and  also  to  the 
mind,  did  not  perceive  that  he  was  ascribing  immortality 
to  mortal  beings. 

Pythagoras,  who  supposed  the  Deity  to  be  one  soul, 
mixing  with  and  pervading  all  nature,  from  which  our 
souls  are  taken,  did  not  consider  that  the  Deity  himself 
must,  in  consequence  of  this  doctrine,  be  maimed  and  torn 
with  the  rending  every  human  soul  from  it;  nor  that, 
when  the  human  mind  is  afflicted  (as  is  the  case  in  many 
instances),  that  part  of  the  Deity  must  likewise  be  afflicted, 


220  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

which  cannot  be.  If  the  linman  mind  were  a  Deity,  how 
could  it  be  ignorant  of  any  thing?  Besides,  how  could 
that  Deity,  if  it  is  nothing  but  soul,  be  mixed  with,  or  in- 
fused into,  the  world  ? 

Then  Xenophanes,  who  said  that  everything  in  the 
world  which  had  any  existence,  with  the  addition  of  intel- 
lect, was  God,  is  as  liable  to  exception  as  the  rest,  especial- 
ly in  relation  to  the  infinity  of  it,  in  which  there  can  be 
nothing  sentient,  nothing  composite. 

Parmenides  formed  a  conceit  to  himself  of  something 
circular  like  a  crown.  (He  names  it  Stephane.)  It  is  an 
orb  of  constant  light  and  heat  around  the  heavens;  this 
he  calls  God ;  in  which  there  is  no  room  to  imagine  any 
divine  form  or  sense.  And  he  uttered  many  other  absurd- 
ities on  the  same  subject;  for  he  ascribed  a  divinity  to 
war,  to  discord,  to  lust,  and  other  passions  of  the  same 
kind,  which  are  destroyed  by  disease,  or  sleep,  or  oblivion, 
or  age.  The  same  honor  he  gives  to  the  stars ;  but  I  shall 
forbear  making  any  objections  to  his  system  here,  having 
already  done  it  in  another  place. 

XII.  Empedocles,  who  erred  in  many  things,  is  most 
grossly  mistaken  in  his  notion  of  the  Gods.  He  lays 
down  four  natures^  as  divine,  from  which  he  thinks  that 
all  things  were  made.  Yet  it  is  evident  that  they  have  a  be- 
ginning, that  they  decay,  and  that  they  are  void  of  all  sense. 

Protagoras  did  not  seem  to  have  any  idea  of  the  real 
nature  of  the  Gods;  for  he  acknowledged  that  he  was  al- 
together ignorant  whether  there  are  or  are  not  any,  or 
what  they  are. 

What  shall  I  say  of  Democritus,  who  classes  our  images 
of  objects,  and  their  orbs,  in  the  number  of  the  Gods;  as 
he  does  that  principle  through  which  those  images  appear 
and  have  their  influence  ?  He  deifies  likewise  our  knowl- 
edge and  understanding.  Is  he  not  involved  in  a  very 
great  error?  And  because  nothing  continues  always  in 
the  same  state,  he  denies  that  anything  is  everlasting,  does 
he  not  thereby  entirely  destroy  the  Deity,  and  make  it  im- 
possible to  form  any  opinion  of  him  ? 

'  The  four  natures  here  to  be  understood  are  the  four  elements — fire, 
water,  air,  and  earth ;  wliich  are  mentioned  as  the  four  princiiiles  of 
Empedocles  by  Diogenes  Laertius. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  221 

Diogenes  of  Apollonia  looks  upon  the  air  to  be  a  Deity. 
But  what  sense  can  the  air  have?  or  what  divine  form 
can  be  attributed  to  it? 

It  would  be  tedious  to  show  the  uncertainty  of  Plato's 
opinion  ;  for,  in  his  Timceus,  he  denies  the  propriety  of  as- 
serting that  there  is  one  great  father  or  creator  of  the 
world ;  and,  in  his  book  of  Laws,  he  thinks  we  ought  not 
to  make  too  strict  an  inquiry  into  the  nature  of  the  Deity. 
And  as  for  his  statement  when  he  asserts  that  God  is  a 
being  without  any  body — what  the  Greeks  call  ao-w^aroe — 
it  is  certainly  quite  unintelligible  how  that  theory  can  pos- 
sibly be  true;  for  such  a  God  must  then  necessarily  be 
destitute  of  sense,  prudence,  and  pleasure ;  all  which  things 
are  comprehended  in  our  notion  of  the  Gods.  He  like- 
wise asserts  in  his  Tima^us,  and  in  his  Laws,  that  the  world, 
the  heavens,  the  stars,  the  mind,  and  those  Gods  which  are 
delivered  down  to  us  from  our  ancestors,  constitute  the 
Deity.  These  opinions,  taken  separately,  are  apparently 
false;  and,  together,  are  directly  inconsistent  with  each 
other. 

Xenophon  has  committed  almost  the  same  mistakes, 
but  in  fewer  words.  In  those  sayings  which  he  has  related 
of  Socrates,  he  introduces  him  disputing  the  lawfulness  of 
inquiring  into  the  form  of  the  Deity,  and  makes  him  assert 
the  sun  and  the  mind  to  be  Deities :  he  represents  him 
likewise  as  affirming  the  being  of  one  God  only,  and  at  an- 
other time  of  many ;  which  are  errors  of  almost  the  same 
kind  which  I  before  took  notice  of  in  Plato. 

XIII.  Antisthenes,  in  his  book  called  the  Natural  Phi- 
losopher, says  that  there  are  many  national  and  one  nat- 
ural Deity;  but  by  this  saying  he  destroys  the  power  and 
nature  of  the  Gods.  Speusippus  is  not  much  less  in  the 
wrong ;  who,  following  his  uncle  Plato,  says  that  a  certain 
incorporeal  power  governs  everything;  by  which  he  en- 
deavors to  root  out  of  our  minds  the  knowledge  of  the 
Gods. 

Aristotle,  in  his  third  book  of  Philosophy,  confounds 
many  things  together,  as  the  rest  have  done ;  but  he  does 
not  differ  from  his  master  Plato.  At  one  time  he  attrib- 
utes all  divinity  to  the  mind,  at  another  he  asserts  that  the 
world  is  God.     Soon  afterward  he  makes  some  other  es- 


222        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

seiice  preside  over  the  world,  and  gives  it  those  faculties' 
by  which,  with  certain  revolutions,  he  may  govern  and 
preserve  the  motion  of  it.  Then  he  asserts  the  heat  of  the 
firmament  to  be  God ;  not  perceiving  the  firmament  to  be 
part  of  the  world,  which  in  another  place  he  had  described 
as  God.  How  can  that  divine  sense  of  the  firmament  be 
preserved  in  so  rapid  a  motion?  And  where  do  the  mul- 
titude of  Gods  dwell,  if  heaven  itself  is  a  Deity?  But 
when  this  philosopher  says  that  God  is  without  a  body, 
he  makes  him  an  irrational  and  insensible  being.  Besides, 
how  can  the  world  move  itself,  if  it  wants  a  body  ?  Or 
how,  if  it  is  in  perpetual  self-motion,  can  it  be  easy  and 
liappy  ? 

Xenocrates,  his  fellow-pupil,  does  not  appear  much  wiser 
on  this  head,  for  in  his  books  concerning  the  nnture  of  the 
Gods  no  divine  form  is  described ;  but  he  says  the  num- 
ber of  them  is  eight.  Five  are  moving  planets  ;^  the  sixth 
is  contained  in  all  the  fixed  stars ;  which,  dispersed,  are  so 
many  several  members,  but,  considered  together,  are  one 
single  Deity ;  the  seventh  is  the  sun ;  and  the  eighth  the 
moon.  But  in  what  sense  they  can  possibly  be  happy  is 
not  easy  to  be  understood. 

From  the  same  school  of  Plato,  Heraclides  of  Pontus 
stuffed  his  books  with  puerile  tales.  Sometimes  he  thinks 
the  world  a  Deity,  at  other  times  the  mind.  He  attributes 
divinity  likewise  to  the  wandering  stars.  He  deprives  the 
Deity  of  sense,  and  makes  his  form  nmtable ;  and,  in  the 
same  book  again,  he  makes  earth  and  heaven  Deities. 

The  unsteadiness  of  Theophrastus  is  equally  intolerable. 
At  one  time  he  attributes  a  divine  prerogative  to  the  mind ; 
at  another,  to  the  firmament;  at  another,  to  the  stars  and 
celestial  constellations. 

Nor  is  his  disciple  Strato,  who  is  called  the  naturalist, 
any  more  worthy  to  be  regarded ;  for  he  thinks  that  the 
divine  power  is  diffused  through  nature,  which  is  the  cause 
of  birth,  increase,  and  diminution,  but  that  it  has  no  sense 
nor  form. 

XIV.  Zeno  (to  come  to  your  sect,  Balbus)  thinks  the 
law  of  nature  to  be  the  divinity,  and  that  it  has  the  power 

'  These  five  moving  stars  are  Saturn,  Jupiter,  Mars,  Mercury,  and 
Venus.     Tlieir  revolutions  arc  considered  in  the  next  bool^. 


THE  NATUKE  OF  THE  GODS.  223 

to  force  us  to  what  is  right,  and  to  restrain  us  from  what 
is  wrong.  How  this  law  can  be  an  animated  being  I  can- 
not conceive ;  but  that  God  is  so  we  would  certainly  main- 
tain. The  same  person  says,  in  another  place,  that  the  sky 
is  God ;  but  can  we  possibly  conceive  that  God  is  a  being 
insensible,  deaf  to  our  prayers,  our  wishes,  and  our  vows, 
and  wholly  unconnected  with  us?  In  other  books  he 
thinks  there  is  a  certain  rational  essence  pervading  all  nat- 
ure, indued  with  divine  efficacy.  He  attributes  the  same 
power  to  the  stars,  to  the  years,  to  the  months,  and  to  the 
seasons.  In  his  interpretation  of  Hesiod's  Theogony,^  he 
entirely  destroys  the  established  notions  of  the  Gods;  for 
he  excludes  Jupiter,  Juno,  and  Vesta,  and  those  esteemed 
divine,  from  the  number  of  them  ;  but  his  doctrine  is  that 
these  are  names  which  by  some  kind  of  allusion  are  given 
to  mute  and  inanimate  beings.  The  sentiments  of  his  dis- 
ciple Aristo  are  not  less  erroneous.  He  thought  it  impos- 
sible to  conceive  the  form  of  the  Deity,  and  asserts  that 
the  Gods  are  destitute  of  sense;  and  he  is  entirely  dubi- 
ous whether  the  Deity  is  an  animated  being  or  not. 

Cleanthes,  who  next  comes  under  my  notice,  a  disciple 
of  Zeno  at  the  same  time  with  Aristo,  in  one  place  says 
that  the  world  is  God ;  in  another,  he  attributes  divinity 
to  the  mind  and  spirit  of  universal  nature;  then  he  asserts 
that  the  most  remote,  the  higliest,  the  all-surrounding,  the 
all-enclosing  and  embracing  heat,  which  is  called  the  sky, 
is  most  certainly  the  Deity.  In  the  books  he  wrote  against 
pleasure,  in  which  he  seems  to  be  raving,  he  imagines  the 
Gods  to  have  a  certain  form  and  shape ;  then  he  ascribes 
all  divinity  to  the  stars ;  and,  lastly,  he  thinks  nothing  more 
divine  than  reason.  So  that  this  God,  whom  we  know 
mentally  and  in  the  speculations  of  our  minds,  from  which 
traces  we  receive  our  impression,  has  at  last  actually  no 
visible  form  at  all. 

XV.  Persa3us,  another  disciple  of  Zeno,  says  that  they 
who  have  made  discoveries  advantageous  to  the  life  of  man 
should  be  esteemed  as  Gods ;  and  the  very  things,  he  says, 
which  are  healthful  and  beneficial  have  derived  their  names 
from  those  of  the  Gods ;  so  that  he  thinks  it  not  sufficient 
to  call  them  the  discoveries  of  Gods,  but  he  urges  that  they 
'  Or,  Generation  of  the  Gods. 


224        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

themselves  should  be  deemed  divine.  AYIiat  can  be  more 
absurd  than  to  ascribe  divine  honors  to  sordid  and  deformed 
things ;  or  to  place  among  the  Gods  men  who  are  dead  and 
mixed  with  the  dust,  to  whose  memory  all  the  respect  that 
could  be  paid  would  be  but  mourning  for  their  loss? 

Chrysippus,  who  is  looked  upon  as  the  most  subtle  in- 
terpreter of  the  dreams  of  the  Stoics,  has  mustered  up  a 
numerous  band  of  unknown  Gods;  and  so  unknown  that 
we  are  not  able  to  form  any  idea  about  them,  though  our 
mind  seems  capable  of  framing  any  image  to  itself  in  its 
thoughts.  For  he  says  that  the  divine  power  is  placed  in 
reason,  and  in  the  spirit  and  mind  of  universal  nature ;  that 
the  w^orld,  with  a  universal  effusion  of  its  spirit,  is  God; 
that  the  superior  part  of  that  spirit,  which  is  the  mind  and 
reason,  is  the  great  principle  of  nature,  containing  and  pre- 
serving the  chain  of  all  things;  that  the  divinity  is  the 
power  of  fate,  and  the  necessity  of  future  events.  He  dei- 
fies fire  also,  and  what  I  before  called  the  ethereal  spirit, 
and  those  elements  which  naturally  proceed  from  it — wa- 
ter, earth,  and  air.  He  attributes  divinity  to  the  sun,  moon, 
stars,  and  universal  space,  the  grand  container  of  all  things, 
and  to  those  men  likewise  who  have  obtained  immortality. 
He  maintains  the  sky  to  be  what  men  call  Jupiter;  the 
air,  which  pervades  the  sea,  to  be  Neptune  ;  and  the  earth, 
Ceres.  In  like  manner  he  goes  through  the  names  of  the 
other  Deities.  He  says  that  Jupiter  is  that  immutable  and 
eternal  law  which  guides  and  directs  us  in  our  manners; 
and  this  he  calls  fatal  necessity,  the  everlasting  verity  of 
future  events.  But  none  of  these  are  of  such  a  nature  as 
to  seem  to  carry  any  indication  of  divine  virtue  in  them. 
These  are  the  doctrines  contained  in  his  first  book  of  the 
Nature  of  the  Gods.  In  the  second,  he  endeavors  to  ac- 
commodate the  fables  of  Orpheus,  Musseus,  Hesiod,  and 
Homer  to  what  he  has  advanced  in  the  first,  in  order 
that  the  most  ancient  poets,  who  never  dreamed  of  these 
things,  may  seem  to  have  been  Stoics.  Diogenes  the  Bab- 
ylonian was  a  follower  of  the  doctrine  of  Chrysippus ;  and 
in  that  book  which  he  wrote,  entitled  "A  Treatise  concern- 
ing Minerva,"  he  separates  the  account  of  Jupiter's  bring- 
ing-forth,  and  the  birth  of  that  virgin,  from  the  fabulous, 
and  reduces  it  to  a  natural  construction. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  225 

XVI.  Thus  far  have  I  been  rather  exposhig  the  dreams 
of  dotards  than  giving  the  opinions  of  philosophers.  Not 
much  more  absurd  than  these  are  the  fables  of  the  poets, 
who  owe  all  their  power  of  doing  harm  to  the  sweetness 
of  their  language;  who  have  represented  the  Gods  as 
enraged  with  anger  and  inflamed  with  lust;  who  have 
brought  before  our  eyes  their  wars,  battles,  combats, 
wounds;  tlieir  hatreds,  dissensions,  discords,  births,  deaths, 
complaints,  and  Lamentations ;  their  indulgences  in  all 
kinds  of  intemperance;  their  adulteries;  their  chains; 
their  amours  with  mortals,  and  mortals  begotten  by  im- 
mortals. To  these  idle  and  ridiculous  flights  of  the  poets 
we  may  add  tlie  prodigious  stories  invented  by  the  Magi, 
and  by  the  Egyptians  also,  which  were  of  the  same  nature, 
together  with  the  extravagant  notions  of  the  multitude  at 
all  times,  who,  from  total  ignorance  of  the  truth,  are  al- 
ways fluctuating  in  uncertainty. 

Now,  whoever  reflects  on  the  rashness  and  absurdity  of 
these  tenets  must  inevitably  entertain  the  highest  respect 
and  veneration  for  Epicurus,  and  perhaps  even  rank  him 
in  the  number  of  those  beings  who  are  the  subject  of  this 
dispute;  for  he  alone  first  founded  the  idea  of  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Gods  on  the  impression  which  nature  herself 
hath  made  on  the  minds  of  all  men.  For  what  nation, 
what  people  are  there,  who  have  not,  without  any  learning, 
a  natural  idea,  or  prenotion,  of  a  Deity?  Epicurus  calls 
this  TTpoXrj-^ig ;  that  is,  an  antecedent  conception  of  the  fact 
in  the  mind,  without  which  nothing  can  be  understood,  in- 
quired after,  or  discoursed  on  ;  the  force  and  advantage  of 
which  reasoning  we  receive  from  that  celestial  volume  of 
Epicurus  concerning  the  Rule  and  Judgment  of  Things. 

XVII.  Here,  then,  you  see  the  foundation  of  this  ques- 
tion clearly  laid ;  for  since  it  is  the  constant  and  universal 
opinion  of  mankind,  independent  of  education,  custom,  or 
law,  that  there  are  Gods,  it  must  necessarily  follow  that 
this  knowledge  is  implanted  in  our  minds,  or,  rather,  in- 
nate in  us.  That  opinion  respecting  which  there  is  a  gen- 
eral agreement  in  universal  nature  must  infaUibly  be  true ; 
therefore  it  must  be  allowed  that  there  are  Gods ;  for  in 
this  we  have  the  concurrence,  not  only  of  almost  all  phi- 
losophers, but  likewise  of  the  ignorant  and  illiterate.     It 

10^' 


22G        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

must  be  also  confessed  that  the  point  is  established  that 
we  have  naturally  this  idea,  as  I  said  before,  or  prenotion, 
of  the  existence  of  the  Gods.  As  new  things  require  new 
names,  so  that  prenotion  was  called  7rp('\t]\p(g  by  Epicurus ; 
an  appellation  never  used  before.  On  ihe  same  principle 
of  reasonings  we  think  that  the  Gods  are  happy  and  im- 
mortal; for  that  nature  wliich  hath  assured  us  that  there 
are  Gods  has  likewise  imprinted  in  our  minds  the  knowl- 
edge of  their  immortality  and  felicity;  and  if  so,  what  Ep- 
icurus hath  declared  in  these  words  is  true:  "That  which 
is  eternally  happy  cannot  be  burdened  with  any  labor  it- 
self, nor  can  it  impose  any  labor  on  another ;  nor  can  it  be 
influenced  by  resentment  or  favor :  because  things  which 
are  liable  to  such  feelings  must  be  weak  and  frail."  We 
have  said  enough  to  prove  that  we  should  worship  the 
Gods  with  piety,  and  without  superstition,  if  that  were  the 
only  question. 

For  the  superior  and  excellent  nature  of  the  Gods  re- 
quires a  pious  adoration  from  men,  because  it  is  possessed 
of  immortality  and  the  most  exalted  felicity ;  for  whatever 
excels  has  a  right  to  veneration,  and  all  fear  of  the  power 
and  anger  of  the  Gods  should  be  banished;  for  we  must 
understand  that  anger  and  affection  are  inconsistent  with 
the  nature  of  a  happy  and  immortal  being.  These  appre- 
hensions being  removed,  no  dread  of  the  superior  powers 
remains.  To  confirm  this  opinion,  our  curiosity  leads  us 
to  inquire  into  the  form  and  life  and  action  of  the  intellect 
and  spirit  of  the  Deity. 

XVIII.  With  regard  to  his  form,  we  are  directed  partly 
by  nature  and  partly  by  reason.  All  men  are  told  by  nat- 
ure that  none  but  a  human  form  can  be  ascribed  to  the 
Gods ;  for  under  what  other  image  did  it  ever  appear  to 
any  one  either  sleeping  or  waking  ?  and,  without  having 
recourse  to  our  first  notions,^  reason  itself  declares  the 
same ;  for  as  it  is  easy  to  conceive  that  the  most  excellent 
nature,  either  because  of  its  happiness  or  immortality, 
should  be  the  most  beautiful,  what  composition  of  limbs, 
what  conformation  of  lineaments,  what  form,  what  aspect, 
can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  human?  Your  sect,  Lu- 
cilius  (not  like  my  friend  Cotta,  who  sometimes  says  one 
*  The  7rp6\i]^ig  of  Epicurus,  before  mentioned,  is  what  he  here  means. 


TUE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  227 

thing  and  sometimes  another),  when  tliey  represent  the  di- 
vine art  and  workmanship  in  the  human  body,  are  used  to 
describe  how  very  completely  each  member  is  formed,  not 
only  for  convenience,  but  also  for  beauty.  Therefore,  if 
the  human  form  excels  that  of  all  other  animal  beings,  as 
God  himself  is  an  animated  being,  he  must  surely  be  of 
that  form  which  is  the  most  beautiful.  Besides,  the  Gods 
are  granted  to  be  perfectly  happy;  and  nobody  can  be 
happy  without  virtue,  nor  can  virtue  exist  where  reason  is 
not;  and  reason  can  reside  in  none  but  the  human  form; 
the  Gods,  therefore,  must  be  acknowledged  to  be  of  hu- 
man form ;  yet  that  form  is  not  body,  but  something  like 
body;  nor  does  it  contain  any  blood,  but  something  like 
blood.  Though  these  distinctions  Avere  more  acutely  de- 
vised and  more  artfully  expressed  by  Epicurus  than  any 
common  capacity  can  comprehend;  yet,  depending  on 
your  understanding,  I  shall  be  more  brief  on  the  subject 
than  otherwise  I  should  be.  Epicurus,  who  not  only  dis- 
covered and  understood  the  occult  and  almost  hidden  se- 
crets of  nature,  but  explained  them  with  ease,  teaches  that 
the  power  and  nature  of  the  Gods  is  not  to  be  discerned 
by  the  senses,  but  by  the  mind ;  nor  are  they  to  be  con- 
sidered as  bodies  of  any  solidity,  or  reducible  to  number, 
like  those  things  which,  because  of  their  firmness,  he  calls 
Srepe/ij/m  ;^  but  as  images,  perceived  by  similitude  and 
transition.  As  infinite  kinds  of  those  images  result  from 
innumerable  individuals,  and  centre  in  the  Gods,  our  minds 
and  understanding  are  directed  towards  and  fixed  with  the 
greatest  delight  on  them,  in  order  to  comprehend  what 
that  happy  and  eternal  essence  is. 

XIX.  Surely  the  mighty  power  of  the  Infinite  Being  is 
most  wortliy  our  great  and  earnest  contemplation ;  tiie 
nature  of  which  we  must  necessarily  understand  to  be 
such  that  everything  in  it  is  made  to  correspond  complete- 
ly to  some  other  answering  part.  This  is  called  by  Epi- 
curus Iffovofiia ;  that  is  to  say,  an  equal  distribution  or  even 
disposition  of  things.     From  hence  he  draws  this  infer- 

^  Urtpsfivia  is  the  word  Avhich  Epicurus  used  to  distinguish  between 
those  objects  which  are  perceptible  to  sense,  and  those  which  are  imper- 
ceptible ;  as  the  essence  of  the  Divine  Being,  and  the  various  operations 
of  the  divine  power. 


228  THE  NATURE  OF  THE   GODS. 

ence,  that,  .is  there  is  such  a  vast  multitude  of  mortals, 
tliere  cannot  be  a  less  number  of  immortals ;  and  if  those 
which  perish  are  innumerable,  those  which  are  preserved 
ought  also  to  be  countless.  Your  sect,  Balbus,  frequently 
ask  us  how  the  Gods  live,  and  how  they  pass  their  time  ? 
Their  life  is  the  most  happy,  and  the  most  abounding  with 
all  kinds  of  blessings,  which  can  be  conceived.  They  do 
nothing.  They  are  embarrassed  with  no  business ;  nor  do 
they  perform  any  work.  They  rejoice  in  the  possession  of 
their  own  wisdom  and  virtue.  They  are  satisfied  that  they 
siiall  ever  enjoy  the  fulness  of  eternal  pleasures. 

XX.  Such  a  Deity  may  properly  be  called  happy;  but 
yours  is  a  most  laborious  God.  For  let  us  suppose  the 
world  a  Deity  —  what  can  be  a  more  uneasy  state  than, 
without  the  least  cessation,  to  be  whirled  about  the  axle- 
tree  of  heaven  with  a  surprising  celerity?  But  nothing 
can  be  happy  that  is  not  at  ease.  Or  let  us  suppose  a  De- 
ity residing  in  the  world,  who  directs  and  governs  it,  who 
preserves  the  courses  of  the  stars,  the  changes  of  the  sea- 
sons, and  the  vicissitudes  and  orders  of  things,  surveying 
the  earth  and  the  sea,  and  accommodating  them  to  the  ad- 
vantage and  necessities  of  man.  Truly  this  Deity  is  em- 
barrassed with  a  very  troublesome  and  laborious  office. 
We  make  a  happy  life  to  consist  in  a  tranquillity  of  mind, 
a  perfect  freedom  from  care,  and  an  exemption  from  all 
employment.  The  philosopher  from  whom  we  received  all 
our  knowledge  has  taught  us  that  the  world  was  made  by 
nature;  that  there  was  no  occasion  for  a  workliouse  to 
frame  it  iu ;  and  that,  though  you  deny  the  possibility  of 
such  a  work  without  divine  skill,  it  is  so  easy  to  her,  that 
she  has  made,  does  make,  and  will  make  innumerable 
worlds.  But,  because  you  do  not  conceive  that  nature  is 
able  to  produce  such  effects  without  some  rational  aid,  you 
are  forced,  like  the  tragic  poets,  when  you  cannot  wind  up 
your  argument  in  any  other  way,  to  have  recourse  to  a 
Deity,  whose  assistance  you  would  not  seek,  if  you  could 
view  that  vast  and  unbounded  magnitude  of  regions  in  all 
parts ;  where  the  mind,  extending  and  spreading  itself, 
travels  so  far  and  wide  that  it  can  find  no  end,  no  extremi- 
ty to  stop  at.  In  this  immensity  of  breadth,  length,  and 
height,  a  most  boundless  company  of  innumerable  atoms 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  229 

are  fluttering  about,  whicli,  notwithstanding  the  interposi- 
tion of  a  void  space,  meet  and  cohere,  and  continue  cling- 
ing to  one  another ;  and  by  this  union  these  modifications 
and  forms  of  things  arise,  which,  in  your  opinions,  couUl 
not  possibly  be  made  without  the  help  of  bellows  and  an- 
vils. Thus  you  have  imposed  on  us  an  eternal  master, 
whom  we  must  dread  day  and  night.  For  who  can  be 
free  from  fear  of  a  Deity  who  foresees,  regards,  and  takes 
notice  of  everything ;  one  who  thinks  all  things  his  own ; 
a  curious,  ever-busy  God  ? 

Hence  first  arose  your  Elfiapidirrj,  as  you  call  it,  your  fa- 
tal necessity ;  so  that,  whatever  happens,  you  affirm  that  it 
flows  from  an  eternal  chain  and  continuance  of  causes.  Of 
what  value  is  this  philosophy,  which,  like  old  women  and 
illiterate  men,  attributes  everything  to  fate  ?  Then  follows 
your  fiavTii^r),  in  Latin  called  divmatio,  divination;  whicli, 
if  we  would  listen  to  you,  would  plunge  us  into  such  su- 
perstition that  we  should  fall  down  and  worship  your  in- 
spectors into  sacrifices,  your  augurs,  your  soothsayers,  your 
prophets,  and  your  fortune-tellers. 

Epicurus  having  freed  us  from  these  terrors  and  re- 
stored us  to  liberty,  we  have  no  dread  of  those  beings 
whom  we  have  reason  to  think  entirely  free  from  all 
trouble  themselves,  and  who  do  not  impose  any  on  others. 
We  pay  our  adoration,  indeed,  with  piety  and  reverence 
to  that  essence  which  is  above  all  excellence  and  perfec- 
tion. But  I  fear  my  zeal  for  this  doctrine  has  made  me 
too  prolix.  However,  I  could  not  easily  leave  so  eminent 
and  important  a  subject  unfinished,  though  I  must  confess 
I  should  rather  endeavor  to  hear  than  speak  so  long. 

XXI.  Cotta,  with  his  usual  courtesy,  then  began.  Vel- 
leius,  says  he,  w^ere  it  not  for  something  which  you  have 
advanced,  I  should  have  remained  silent ;  for  I  have  often 
observed,  as  I  did  just  now  upon  hearing  you,  that  I  can- 
not so  easily  conceive  why  a  proposition  is  true  as  why  it 
is  false.  Should  you  ask  me  what  I  take  the  nature  of  tlie 
Gods  to  be,  I  should  perhaps  make  no  answer.  But  if 
you  should  ask  whether  I  think  it  to  be  of  that  nature 
Avhich  you  have  described,  I  should  answer  that  I  was  as 
far  as  possible  from  agreeing  with  you.  However,  before 
I  enter  on  the  subject  of  your  discourse  and  what  you 


230        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

have  advanced  upon  it,  I  will  give  you  my  opinion  of 
yourself.  Your  intimate  friend,  L.  Crassus,  has  been  of- 
ten heard  by  me  to  say  that  you  were  beyond  all  question 
superior  to  all  our  learned  Romans;  and  that  few  Epicu- 
reans in  Greece  were  to  be  compared  to  you.  But  as  I 
knew  what  a  wonderful  esteem  he  had  for  you,  I  imagined 
that  might  make  him  the  more  lavish  in  commendation 
of  you.  Now,  however,  thougli  I  do  not  choose  to  praise 
any  one  when  present,  yet  I  must  confess  that  I  think  you 
have  delivered  your  thoughts  clearly  on  an  obscure  and 
very  intricate  subject;  that  you  are  not  only  copious  in 
your  sentiments,  but  more  elegant  in  your  language  than 
your  sect  generally  are.  When  I  was  at  Athens,  I  went 
often  to  hear  Zeno,  by  the  advice  of  Philo,  who  used  to 
call  him  the  chief  of  the  Epicureans ;  partly,  probably,  in 
order  to  judge  more  easily  how  completely  those  princi- 
ples could  be  refuted  after  I  had  heard  them  stated  by  the 
most  learned  of  the  Epicureans.  And,  indeed,  he  did  not 
speak  in  any  ordinary  manner;  but,  like  you,  Avith  clear- 
ness, gravity,  and  elegance;  yet  what  frequently  gave  me 
great  uneasiness  when  I  heard  him,  as  it  did  while  I  at- 
tended to  you,  was  to  see  so  excellent  a  genius  falling  into 
such  frivolous  (excuse  my  freedom),  not  to  say  foolish,  doc- 
trines. However,  I  shall  not  at  present  offer  anything  bet- 
ter; for,  as  I  said  before,  we  can  in  most  subjects,  especially 
in  physics,  sooner  discover  what  is  not  true  than  what  is. 

XXII.  If  you  should  ask  me  what  God  is,  or  what  his 
character  and  nature  are,  I  should  follow  the  example  of 
Simonides,  who,  when  Hiero  the  tyrant  proposed  the  same 
question  to  him,  desired  a  day  to  consider  of  it.  When  he 
required  his  answer  the  next  day,  Simonides  begged  two 
days  more;  and  as  he  kept  constantly  desiring  double  the 
number  which  he  had  required  before  instead  of  giving 
his  answer,  Hiero,  with  surprise,  asked  him  his  meaning 
in  doing  so :  "  Because,"  says  he,  "  the  longer  I  meditate 
on  it,  the  more  obscure  it  appears  to  me."  Simonides,  who 
was  not  only  a  delightful  poet,  but  reputed  a  wise  and 
learned  man  in  other  branches  of  knowledge,  found,  I  sup- 
pose, so  many  acute  and  refined  arguments  occurring  to 
him,  that  he  was  doubtful  which  was  the  truest,  and  there- 
fore despaired  of  discovering  any  truth. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  231 

But  does  your  Epicurus  (for  I  had  rather  contend  with 
him  than  with  you)  say  anything  that  is  worthy  the  name 
of  philosophy,  or  even  of  common-sense  ? 

In  the  question  concerning  the  nature  of  the  Gods,  liis 
first  inquiry  is,  whether  there  are  Gods  or  not.  It  would 
be  dangerous,  I  believe,  to  take  the  negative  side  before  a 
public  auditory;  but  it  is  very  safe  in  a  discourse  of  this 
kind,  and  in  this  company.  I,  who  am  a  priest,  and  who 
think  that  religions  and  ceremonies  ought  sacredly  to  be 
maintained,  am  certainly  desirous  to  have  the  existence 
of  the  Gods,  which  is  the  principal  point  in  debate,  not 
only  fixed  in  opinion,  but  proved  to  a  demonstration ;  for 
many  notions  flow  into  and  disturb  the  mind  which  some- 
times seem  to  convince  us  that  there  are  none.  But  see 
how  candidly  I  will  behave  to  you :  as  I  shall  not  touch 
upon  those  tenets  you  hold  in  common  with  other  philoso- 
phers, consequently  I  shall  not  dispute  the  existence  of  the 
Gods,  for  that  doctrine  is  agreeable  to  almost  all  men,  and 
to  myself  in  particular;  but  I  am  still  at  liberty  to  find 
fault  with  the  reasons  you  give  for  it,  which  I  think  are 
very  insufiicient. 

XXIII.  You  have  said  that  the  general  assent  of  men 
of  all  nations  and  all  degrees  is  an  argument  strong  enough 
to  induce  us  to  acknowledge  the  being  of  the  Gods.  This 
is  not  only  a  weak,  but  a  false,  argument ;  for,  first  of  all, 
how  do  you  know  the  opinions  of  all  nations?  I  really 
believe  there  are  many  people  so  savage  that  they  have  no 
thoughts  of  a  Deity.  What  think  you  of  Diagoras,  who 
was  called  the  atheist ;  and  of  Theodorus  after  him  ?  Did 
not  they  plainly  deny  the  very  essence  of  a  Deity  ?  Pro- 
tagoras of  Abdera,  whom  you  just  now  mentioned,  the 
greatest  sophist  of  his  age,  was  banished  by  order  of  the 
Athenians  from  their  city  and  territories,  and  his  books 
were  publicly  burned,  because  these  words  were  in  the  be- 
ginning of  his  treatise  concerning  the  Gods:  "I  am  unable 
to  arrive  at  any  knowledge  whether  there  are,  or  are  not, 
any  Gods."  This  treatment  of  him,  I  imagine,  restrain- 
ed many  from  professing  their  disbelief  of  a  Deity,  since 
the  doubt  of  it  only  could  not  escape  punishment.  What 
shall  we  say  of  the  sacrilegious,  the  impious,  and  the  per- 
jured?    If  Tubulus  Lucius,  Lupus,  or  Carbo  the  son  of 


232        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Neptune,  as  Lucilius  says,  had  believed  that  there  were 
Gods,  would  either  of  them  have  carried  his  perjuries  and 
impieties  to  such  excess  ?  Your  reasoning,  therefore,  to 
confirm  your  assertion  is  not  so  conclusive  as  you  think  it 
is.  But  as  this  is  the  manner  in  which  other  philosophers 
have  argued  on  the  same  subject,  I  will  take  no  further 
notice  of  it  at  present;  I  rather  choose  to  proceed  to  what 
is  properly  your  own. 

I  allow  that  there  are  Gods.  Instruct  me,  then,  con- 
cerning their  origin  ;  inform  me  where  they  are,  what  sort 
of  body,  what  mind,  they  have,  and  what  is  their  course  of 
life;  for  these  I  am  desirous  of  knowing.  You  attribute 
the  most  absolute  power  and  efficacy  to  atoms.  Out  of 
them  you  pretend  that  everything  is  made.  But  there  are 
no  atoms, for  there  is  nothing  without  body;  every  place 
is  occupied  by  body,  therefore  there  can  be  no  such  thing 
as  a  vacuum  or  an  atom. 

XXIV.  I  advance  these  principles  of  the  naturalists 
without  knowing  whether  they  are  true  or  false;  yet  they 
are  more  like  truth  than  those  statements  of  yours;  for 
they  are  the  absurdities  in  which  Democritus,  or  before 
him  Leucippus,  used  to  indulge,  saying  that  there  are  cer- 
tain light  corpuscles  —  some  smooth,  some  rough,  some 
round,  some  square,  some  crooked  and  bent  as  bows — 
which  by  a  fortuitous  concourse  made  heaven  and  earth, 
without  the  influence  of  any  natural  power.  This  opinion, 
C.  Velleius,  you  have  brought  down  to  these  our  times ; 
and  you  would  sooner  be  deprived  of  the  greatest  advan- 
tages of  life  than  of  that  authority ;  for  before  you  were 
acquainted  with  those  tenets,  you  thought  that  you  ought 
to  profess  yourself  an  Epicurean ;  so  that  it  was  necessa- 
ry that  you  should  either  embrace  these  absurdities  or  lose 
the  philosophical  character  which  you  had  taken  upon  you ; 
and  what  could  bribe  you  to  renounce  the  Epicurean  opin- 
ion? Nothing,  you  say,  can  prevail  on  you  to  forsake  the 
truth  and  the  sure  means  of  a  happy  life.  But  is  that  the 
truth?  for  I  shall  not  contest  your  happy  life,  which  you 
think  the  Deity  himself  does  not  enjoy  unless  he  languish- 
es in  idleness.  But  where  is  truth  ?  Is  it  in  your  innu- 
merable worlds,  some  of  which  are  rising,  some  falling,  at 
every  moment  of  time  ?     Or  is  it  in  your  atomical  corpus- 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  233 

cles,  wliich  form  such  excellent  works  without  the  direc- 
tion of  any  natural  power  or  reason?  But  I  was  forget- 
ting my  liberality,  which  I  had  promised  to  exert  in  your 
case,  and  exceeding  tlio  bounds  which  I  at  first  proposed 
to  myself.  Granting, then,  everything  to  be  made  of  atoms, 
what  advantage  is  that  to  your  argument?  For  we  are 
searching  after  the  nature  of  the  Gods ;  and  allowing  them 
to  be  made  of  atoms,  they  cannot  be  eternal,  because  what- 
ever is  made  of  atoms  must  have  had  a  beginning:  if  so, 
there  were  no  Gods  till  there  was  this  beginning;  and  if 
the  Gods  have  had  a  beginning,  they  must  necessarily  have 
an  end,  as  you  have  before  contended  when  you  were  dis- 
cussing Plato's  world.  Where,  then,  is  your  beatitude  and 
immortality,  in  which  two  words  you  say  that  God  is  ex- 
pressed, the  endeavor  to  prove  which  reduces  you  to  the 
greatest  perplexities?  For  you  said  that  God  had  no 
body,  but  something  like  body ;  and  no  blood,  but  some- 
thing like  blood. 

XXV.  It  is  a  frequent  practice  among  you,  when  you 
assert  anything  that  has  no  resemblance  to  truth,  and  wish 
to  avoid  reprehension,  to  advance  something  else  which  is 
absolutely  and  utterly  impossible,  in  order  that  it  may  seem 
to  your  adversaries  better  to  grant  that  point  which  has 
been  a  matter  of  doubt  than  to  keep  on  pertinaciously  con- 
tradicting you  on  every  point :  like  Epicurus,  who,  when  he 
found  that  if  his  atoms  were  allowed  to  descend  by  their 
own  weight,  our  actions  could  not  be  in  our  own  power,  be- 
cause their  motions  would  be  certain  and  necessary,  invent- 
ed an  expedient,  which  escaped  Democritus,  to  avoid  neces- 
sity. He  says  that  when  the  atoms  descend  by  their  own 
weight  and  gravity,  they  move  a  little  obliquely.  Surely, 
to  make  such  an  assertion  as  this  is  what  one  ought  more 
to  be  ashamed  of  than  the  acknowledging  ourselves  unable 
to  defend  the  proposition.  His  practice  is  the  same  against 
the  logicians,  who  say  that  in  all  propositions  in  which  yes 
or  no  is  required,  one  of  them  must  be  true ;  he  was  afraid 
that  if  this  were  granted,  then,  in  such  a  proposition  as 
"  Epicurus  will  be  alive  or  dead  to-morrow,"  either  one  or 
the  other  must  necessarily  be  admitted ;  therefore  he  ab- 
solutely denied  the  necessity  of  yes  or  no.     Can  anything 


234        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

show  stupidity  in  a  greater  degree  ?  Zeno/  being  pressed 
by  Arcesilas,  who  pronounced  all  things  to  be  false  whidi 
are  perceived  by  the  senses,  said  that  some  things  were 
false,  but  not  all.  Epicurus  was  afraid  that  if  any  one 
thing  seen  should  be  false,  nothing  could  be  true ;  and 
therefore  he  asserted  all  the  senses  to  be  infallible  dii*ectors 
of  truth.  Nothing  can  be  more  rash  than  this  ;  for  by  en- 
deavoring to  repel  a  light  stroke, he  receives  a  heavy  blow. 
On  the  subject  of  the  nature  of  the  Gods,  he  falls  into  the 
same  errors.  While  he  would  avoid  the  concretion  of  in- 
dividual bodies,  lest  death  and  dissolution  should  be  the 
consequence,  he  denies  that  the  Gods  have  body,  but  says 
they  have  something  like  body;  and  says  they  have  no 
blood,  but  something  like  blood. 

XXVI.  It  seems  an  unaccountable  tiling  how  one  sooth- 
sayer can  refrain  f i-om  laughing  when  he  sees  another.  It 
is  yet  a  greater  wonder  that  you  can  refrain  from  laughing 
among  yourselves.  It  is  no  body,  but  something  like  body  ! 
I  could  understand  this  if  it  were  applied  to  statues  made 
of  wax  or  clay ;  but  in  regard  to  the  Deity,  I  am  not  able 
to  discover  what  is  meant  by  a  quasi-body  or  quasi-blood. 
Nor  indeed  are  you,  Velleius,  though  you  will  not  confess 
so  much.  For  those  precepts  are  delivered  to  you  as  dic- 
tates which  Epicurus  carelessly  blundered  out;  for  he 
boasted,  as  we  see  in  his  writings,  that  he  had  no  instruc- 
tor, which  I  could  easily  believe  without  his  public  declara- 
tion of  it,  for  the  same  reason  that  I  could  believe  the  mas- 
ter of  a  very  bad  edifice  if  he  were  to  boast  that  he  had 
no  architect  but  himself :  for  there  is  nothing  of  the  Acade- 
my, nothing  of  the  Lyceum,  in  his  doctrine;  nothing  but 
puerilities.  He  might  have  been  a  pupil  of  Xenocrates. 
O  ye  immortal  Gods,  what  a  teacher  was  he !  And  there 
are  those  who  believe  that  he  actually  was  his  pupil;  but 
he  says  otherwise,  and  I  shall  give  more  credit  to  his  word 
than  to  another's.  He  confesses  that  he  was  a  pupil  of  a 
certain  disciple  of  Plato,  one  Pamphilus,  at  Samos ;  for  he 
lived  there  when  lie  was  young,  with  his  father  and  his 
brothers.    His  father,  Neocles,  was  a  farmer  in  those  parts  ; 

'  Zeno  here  mentioned  is  not  the  same  that  Cotta  spoke  of  before. 
This  was  the  founder  of  the  Stoics.  The  other  was  an  Epicurean  phi- 
h)soj)lier  whom  lie  had  heard  at  Athens. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  235 

but  as  the  farm,  I  suppose,  was  not  sufficient  to  maintain 
him,  he  turned  school-master;  yet  Epicurus  treats  this  Pla- 
tonic philosopher  with  wonderful  contempt,  so  fearful  was 
he  that  it  should  be  thought  he  had  ever  had  any  instruc- 
tion. But  it  is  well  known  he  had  been  a  pupil  of  Nau- 
siphanes,  the  follower  of  Democritus ;  and  since  he  could 
not  deny  it,  he  loaded  him  with  insults  in  abundance.  If 
he  never  heard  a  lecture  on  these  Democritean  principles, 
what  lectures  did  he  ever  hear?  What  is  there  in  Epi- 
curus's  physics  that  is  not  taken  from  Democritus?  For 
though  he  altered  some  things,  as  what  I  mentioned  before 
of  the  oblique  motions  of  the  atoms,  yet  most  of  his  doc- 
trines are  the  same ;  his  atoms — his  vacuum — his  imnges 
— infinity  of  space — innumerable  worlds,  their  rise  and  de- 
cay—  and  almost  every  part  of  natural  learning  that  he 
treats  of. 

Now,  do  you  understand  what  is  meant  by  quasi-body 
and  quasi-blood?  For  I  not  only  acknowledge  that  you 
are  a  better  judge  of  it  than  I  am,  but  I  can  bear  it  with- 
out envy.  If  any  sentiments,  indeed,  are  communicated 
without  obscurity,  what  is  there  that  Velleins  can  under- 
stand and  Cotta  not?  I  know  what  body  is,  and  what 
blood  is;  but  I  cannot  possibly  find  out  the  meaning  of 
quasi-body  and  quasi-blood.  Not  that  you  intentionally 
conceal  your  principles  from  me,  as  Pythagoras  did  his 
from  those  who  were  not  his  disciples;  or  that  you  are  in- 
tentionally obscure,  like  Heraclitus.  But  the  truth  is  (which 
I  may  venture  to  say  in  this  company),  you  do  not  under- 
stand them  yourself. 

XXVII.  This,  I  perceive,  is  what  you  contend  for,  that 
the  Gods  have  a  certain  figure  that  has  nothing  concrete, 
nothing  solid,  nothing  of  express  substance,  nothing  prom- 
inent in  it;  but  that  it  is  pure,  smooth,  and  transparent. 
Let  us  suppose  the  same  with  the  Venus  of  Cos,  which  is 
not  a  body,  but  the  representation  of  a  body ;  nor  is  the 
red,  which  is  drawn  there  and  mixed  with  the  white,  real 
blood,  but  a  certain  resemblance  of  blood ;  so  in  Epicu- 
rus's  Deity  there  is  no  real  substance,  but  the  resemblance 
of  substance. 

Let  me  take  for  granted  that  which  is  perfectly  unin- 
telligible; then  tell  me  what  are  the  lineaments  and  fig-^ 


236        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

ures  of  these  sketclied-out  Deities.  Here  you  have  plenty 
of  arguments  by  which  you  would  show  the  Gods  to  be 
in  human  form.  The  first  is,  that  our  minds  are  so  an- 
ticipated and  prepossessed,  that  whenever  we  think  of  a 
Deity  the  human  shape  occurs  to  us.  The  next  is,  that 
as  the  divine  nature  excels  all  things,  so  it  ought  to  be  of 
the  most  beautiful  form,  and  there  is  no  form  more  beau- 
tiful than  the  human  ;  and  the  third  is,  that  reason  cannot 
reside  in  any  other  shape. 

First,  let  us  consider  each  argument  separately.  You 
seem  to  me  to  assume  a  principle,  despotically  I  may  say, 
that  has  no  manner  of  probability  in  it.  Who  was  ever 
so  blind,  in  contemplating  these  subjects,  as  not  to  sec 
that  the  Gods  were  represented  in  human  form,  either  by 
the  particular  advice  of  wise  men,  who  thought  by  those 
means  the  more  easily  to  turn  the  minds  of  the  ignorant 
from  a  depravity  of  manners  to  the  worship  of  the  Gods; 
or  through  superstition,  which  was  the  cause  of  their  be- 
lieving that  when  they  were  paying  adoration  to  these 
images  they  were  approaching  the  Gods  themselves.  These 
conceits  were  not  a  little  improved  by  the  poets,  painters, 
and  artificers ;  for  it  would  not  have  been  very  easy  to 
represent  the  Gods  planning  and  executing  any  work  in 
another  form,  and  perhaps  this  opinion  arose  from  the 
idea  which  mankind  have  of  their  own  beauty.  But  do 
not  you,  who  are  so  great  an  adept  in  physics,  see  what  a 
soothing  flatterer,  what  a  sort  of  procuress,  nature  is  to 
herself?  Do  you  think  there  is  any  creature  on  the  land 
or  in  the  sea  that  is  not  highly  delighted  with  its  own 
form?  If  it  were  not  so,  why  would  not  a  bull  become 
enamored  of  a  mare,  or  a  horse  of  a  cow  ?  Do  you  be- 
lieve an  eagle,  a  lion,  or  a  dolphin  prefers  any  shape  to 
its  own?  If  nature,  therefore,  has  instructed  us  in  the 
same  manner,  that  nothing  is  more  beautiful  than  man, 
what  wonder  is  it  that  we,  for  that  reason,  should  imagine 
the  Gods  are  of  the  human  form?  Do  you  suppose  if 
beasts  were  endowed  with  reason  that  every  one  would 
not  give  the  prize  of  beauty  to  his  own  species  ? 

XXVIII.  Yet,  by  Hercules  (I  speak  as  I  think) !  though 
I  am  fond  enougli  of  myself,  I  dare  not  say  that  I  excel 
in  beauty  that  bull  which  carried  Europa.     For  the  ques- 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  237 

tion  here  is  not  concerning  our  genius  and  elocution,  but 
our  species  and  figure.  If  we  could  make  and  assume  to 
ourselves  any  form,  would  you  be  unwilling  to  resemble 
the  sea-triton  as  he  is  painted  supported  swimming  on 
sea -monsters  whose  bodies  are  partly  human?  Here  I 
touch  on  a  difficult  point;  for  so  great  is  the  force  of  nat- 
ure that  there  is  no  man  who  would  not  choose  to  be 
like  a  man,  nor,  indeed,  any  ant  that  would  not  be  like 
an  ant.  But  like  what  man  ?  For  how  few  can  pretend 
to  beauty !  When  I  was  at  Athens,  the  whole  flock  of 
youths  afforded  scarcely  one.  You  laugh, I  see;  but  what 
I  tell  you  is  the  truth.  Nay,  to  us  who,  after  the  exam- 
ples of  ancient  philosophers,  delight  in  boys,  defects  are 
often  pleasing.  Alcseus  was  charmed  with  a  wart  on  a 
boy's  knuckle ;  but  a  wart  is  a  blemish  on  the  body ;  yet 
it  seemed  a  beauty  to  him.  Q.  Catulus,  my  friend  and 
colleague's  father,  was  enamored  with  your  fellow-citizen 
Roscius, on  whom  he  wrote  these  verses: 

As  once  I  stood  to  hail  the  rising  day, 

Roscins  appearing  on  the  left  I  spied  : 
Forgive  me,  Gods,  if  I  presume  to  say 

The  mortal's  beauty  Avith  th'  immortal  vied. 

Roscius  more  beautiful  than  a  God  !  yet  he  was  then,  as 
he  now  is,  squint-eyed.  But  what  signifies  that,  if  his  de- 
fects were  beauties  to  Catnlus  ? 

XXIX.  I  return  to  the  Gods.  Can  we  suppose  any  of 
them  to  be  squint-eyed,  or  even  to  have  a  cast  in  the  eye? 
Have  they  any  warts  ?  Are  any  of  them  hook-nosed,  flap- 
eared,  beetle-browed,  or  jolt -headed,  as  some  of  us  are  ? 
Or  are  they  free  from  imperfections  ?  Let  us  grant  you 
that.  Are  they  all  alike  in  the  face?  For  if  they  are 
many,  then  one  must  necessarily  be  more  beautiful  than 
another,  and  then  there  must  be  some  Deity  not  absolute- 
ly most  beautiful.  Or  if  their  faces  are  all  alike,  there 
would  be  an  Academy^  in  heaven;  for  if  one  God  does 
not  differ  from  another,  there  is  no  possibility  of  knowing 
or  distinguishing  them. 

What  if  your  assertion,  Yelleius,  proves  absolutely  false, 
that  no  form  occurs  to  us,  in  our  contemplations  on  the 

'  That  is,  there  would  be  the  same  uncertainty  in  heaven  as  is  among 
the  Academics. 


238         THE  NATURE  OF   THE  GODS. 

Deity,  but  the  human?  Will  you,  notwithstanding  that, 
persist  in  the  defence  of  such  an  absurdity?  Supi:)osing 
that  form  occurs  to  us,  as  you  say  it  does,  and  we  know 
Jupiter,  Juno,  Minerva,  Neptune,  Vulcan,  Apollo,  and  the 
other  Deities,  by  tlie  countenance  which  painters  and  statu- 
aries have  given  them,  and  not  only  by  their  countenances, 
but  by  their  decorations,  their  age,  and  attire;  yet  the 
Egyptians,  the  Syrians,  and  almost  all  barbarous  nations,^ 
are  witliout  such  distinctions.  You  may  see  a  greater  re- 
gard paid  by  them  to  certain  beasts  than  by  us  to  the  most 
sacred  temples  and  images  of  the  Gods ;  for  many  shrines 
have  been  rilled,  and  images  of  the  Deities  have  been  car- 
ried from  their  most  sacred  places  by  us;  but  we  never 
heard  that  an  Egyptian  offered  any  violence  to  a  croco- 
dile, an  ibis,  or  a  cat.  What  do  you  think,  then?  Do 
not  the  Egyptians  esteem  their  sacred  bull,  their  Apis,  as 
a  Deity  ?  Yes,  by  Hercules !  as  certainly  as  you  do  our 
protectress  Juno,  whom  you  never  behold,  even  in  your 
dreams,  without  a  goat-skin,  a  spear,  a  shield,  and  broad 
sandals.  But  the  Grecian  Juno  of  Argos  and  the  Roman 
Juno  are  not  represented  in  this  manner ;  so  that  the  Gre- 
cians, the  Lanuvinians,  and  we,  ascribe  different  forms  to 
Juno;  and  our  Capitoline  Jupiter  is  not  the  same  with 
the  Jupiter  Aramon  of  the  Africans. 

XXX.  Therefore,  ought  not  a  natural  philosopher — that 
is,  an  inquirer  into  the  secrets  of  natui-e — to  be  ashamed 
of  seeking  a  testimony  to  truth  from  minds  prepossessed 
by  custom  ?  According  to  the  rule  you  have  laid  down,  it 
may  be  said  that  Jupiter  is  always  bearded,  Apollo  always 
beardless ;  that  Minerva  has  gray  and  Neptune  azure  eyes ; 
and,  indeed,  w^e  must  then  honor  that  Vulcan  at  Athens, 
made  by  Alcamenes,  whose  lameness  through  his  thin  robes 
appears  to  be  no  deformity.  Shall  we,  therefore,  receive  a 
lame  Deity  because  we  have  such  an  account  of  him? 

Consider,  likewise,  that  the  Gods  go  by  what  names  we 
give  them.  Now,  in  the  first  place,  they  have  as  many 
names  as  men  have  languages;  for  Vulcan  is  not  called 
Vulcan  in  Italy,  Africa,  or  Spain,  as  you  are  called  Velle- 
ius  in  all  countries.  Besides,  the  Gods  are  innumerable, 
though  the  list  of  their  names  is  of  no  great  length  even 
^  Those  nations  Avliich  were  neither  Greek  nor  Roman, 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  239 

ill  the  records  of  our  priests.  Have  they  no  names  ?  You 
must  necessarily  confess,  indeed,  they  have  none ;  for  what 
occasion  is  there  for  different  names  if  their  persons  are 
alike? 

How  much  more  laudable  would  it  be,  Yelleius,  to  ac- 
knowledge that  you  do  not  know  what  you  do  not  know 
than  to  follow  a  man  whom  you  must  despise !  Do  you 
think  the  Deity  is  like  either  me  or  you?  You  do  not 
really  think  he  is  like  either  of  us.  What  is  to  be  done, 
then?  Shall  I  call  the  sun,  the  moon,  or  the  sky  a  Deity? 
If  so,  they  are  consequently  happy.  But  what  pleasures 
can  they  enjoy?  And  they  are  wise  too.  But  how  can 
wisdom  reside  in  such  shapes  ?  These  are  your  own  prin- 
ciples- Therefore,  if  they  are  not  of  human  form,  as  I  have 
proved,  and  if  you  cannot  persuade  yourself  that  they  are 
of  any  other,  why  are  you  cautious  of  denying  absolutely 
the  being  of  any  Gods  ?  You  dare  not  deny  it — which  is 
very  prudent  in  you,  though  here  you  are  not  afraid  of  the 
people,  but  of  the  Gods  themselves.  I  have  known  Epicu- 
reans who  reverence^  even  the  least  images  of  the  Gods, 
though  I  perceive  it  to  be  the  opinion  of  some  that  Epicu- 
rus, through  fear  of  offending  against  the  Athenian  laws, 
has  allowed  a  Deity  in  words  and  destroyed  him  in  fact; 
so  in  those  his  select  and  short  sentences,  which  are  called 
by  you  Kvplai  36^at,^  this,  I  think,  is  the  first:  "  That  being 
which  is  happy  and  immortal  is  not  burdened  with  any  la- 
bor, and  does  not  impose  any  on  any  one  else." 

XXXI.  In  his  statement  of  this  sentence,  some  think 
that  he  avoided  speaking  clearly  on  purpose,  though  it  was 
manifestly  Avithout  design.  But  they  judge  ill  of  a  man 
who  had  not  the  least  art.  It  is  doubtful  whether  he  means 
that  there  is  any  being  happy  and  immortal,  or  that  if 
there  is  any  being  happy,  he  must  likewise  be  immortal. 
They  do  not  consider  that  he  speaks  here,  indeed,  ambigu- 
ously ;  but  in  many  other  places  both  he  and  Metrodorus 
explain  themselves  as  clearly  as  you  have  done.  But  he 
believed  there  are  Gods;  nor  have  I  ever  seen  any  one 

^  Sigilla  numerantes  is  the  common  reading ;  but  P.  Manucius  pro- 
poses venerantes,  whicli  I  choose  as  tlie  better  of  the  two,  and  in  which 
sense  I  have  translated  it. 

^  Fnndamcntal  doctrines. 


240        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

who  was  more  exceedingly  afraid  of  what  he  declared 
ought  to  be  no  objects  of  fear,  namely,  death  and  the  Gods, 
with  the  apprehensions  of  which  the  common  rank  of  peo- 
ple are  very  little  affected;  but  he  says  that  the  minds  of 
all  mortals  are  terrified  by  them.  Many  thousands  of  men 
commit  robberies  in  the  face  of  death ;  others  rifle  all  the 
temples  tliey  can  get  into :  such  as  these,  no  doubt,  must 
be  greatly  terrified,  the  one  by  the  fears  of  death,  and  the 
others  by  the  fear  of  the  Gods. 

But  since  you  dare  not  (for  I  am  now  addressing  my 
discourse  to  Epicurus  himself)  absolutely  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Gods,  what  hinders  you  from  ascribing  a  di- 
vine nature  to  the  sun,  the  world,  or  some  eternal  mind? 
I  never,  says  he,  saw  wisdom  and  a  rational  soul  in  any 
but  a  liuman  form.  What !  did  you  ever  observe  anything 
like  the  sun,  the  moon,  or  the  five  moving  planets  ?  The 
sun,  terminating  his  course  in  two  extreme  parts  of  one 
circle,^  finishes  his  annual  revolutions.  The  moon,  receiving 
her  light  from  the  sun,  completes  the  same  course  in  the 
sj^ace  of  a  month.^  The  five  planets  in  the  same  circle, 
some  nearer,  others  more  remote  from  the  earth,  begin  the 
i^ume  courses  together,  and  finish  them  in  different  spaces 
of  time.  Did  you  ever  observe  anything  like  this,  Epicu- 
rus ?  So  that,  according  to  you,  there  can  be  neither  sun, 
moon,  nor  stars,  because  nothing  can  exist  but  what  we 
have  touched  or  seen.^  What !  have  you  ever  seen  the 
Deity  himself?  Why  else  do  you  believe  there  is  any? 
If  this  doctrine  prevails,  we  must  reject  all  that  history 
relates  or  reason  discovers;  and  the  people  who  inhabit 
inland  countries  must  not  believe  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
the  sea.  This  is  so  narrow  a  way  of  thinking  that  if  you 
had  been  born  in  Seriphus,  and  never  had  been  from  out 
of  that  island,  where  you  had  frequently  been  in  the  habit 
of  seeing  little  hares  and  foxes,  you  would  not,  therefore, 
believe  that  there  are  such  beasts  as  lions  and  panthers; 

*  That  is,  the  zodiac. 

^  The  moon,  as  well  as  tlie  sun,  is  indeed  in  the  zodiac,  but  she  does 
not  measure  the  same  course  in  a  month.  She  moves  in  another  line  of 
the  zodiac  nearer  the  earth. 

^  According  to  the  doctrines  of  Epicurus,  none  of  these  bodies  thcm- 
Belves  are  clearly  seen,  but  simulacra  ex  corporibus  effluej\tia. 


THE  NATUEE   OF  THE   GODS.  241 

and  if  any  one  should  describe  an  elephant  to  you,  you 
would  think  that  he  designed  to  laugh  at  you. 

XXXII.  You  indeed,  Velleius,  have  concluded  your  ar- 
gument, not  after  the  manner  of  your  own  sect,  but  of  tlie 
logicians,  to  which  your  people  are  utter  strangers.  You 
have  taken  it  for  granted  that  the  Gods  are  happy.  I  al- 
low it.  You  say  that  without  virtue  no  one  can  be  hapjiy. 
I  willingly  concur  with  you  in  this  also.  You  likewise 
say  that  virtue  cannot  reside  where  reason  is  not.  That  I 
raust  necessarily  allow.  You  add,  moreover,  that  reason 
cannot  exist  but  in  a  human  form.  Who,  do  you  think, 
will  admit  that?  If  it  were  true,  what  occasion  was  there 
to  come  so  gradually  to  it?  And  to  what  purpose?  You 
might  have  answered  it  on  your  owmi  authority.  I  per- 
ceive your  gradations  from  happiness  to  virtue,  and  from 
virtue  to  reason;  but  how  do  you  come  from  reason  to 
human  form  ?  There,  indeed,  you  do  not  descend  by  de- 
grees, but  precipitately. 

Nor  can  I  conceive  why  Epicurus  should  rather  say  the 
Gods  ffi-e  like  men  than  that  men  are  like  the  Gods.  You 
ask  what  is  the  difference;  for,  say  you, if  this  is  like  that, 
that  is  like  this.  I  grant  it;  but  this  I  assert,  that  the 
Gods  could  not  take  their  form  from  men;  for  the  Gods 
always  existed,  and  never  had  a  beginning,  if  they  are  to 
exist  eternally;  but  men  had  a  beginning:  therefore  that 
form,  of  which  the  immortal  Gods  are,  inust  have  had  ex- 
istence before  mankind;  consequently,  the  Gods  should 
not  be  said  to  be  of  human  form,  but  our  form  should  be 
called  divine.  However,  let  this  be  as  you  will.  I  now 
inquire  how  this  extraordinary  good  fortune  came  about; 
for  you  deny  that  reason  had  any  share  in  the  formation 
of  things.  But  still,  Avhat  was  this  extraordinary  fortune? 
Whence  proceeded  that  happy  concourse  of  atoms  which 
gave  so  sudden  a  rise  to  men  in  the  form  of  Gods?  Are 
we  to  suppose  the  divine  seed  fell  from  heaven  upon  earth, 
and  that  men  sprung  up  in  the  likeness  of  their  celestial 
sires?  I  wish  you  would  assert  it;  for  I  should  not  be 
unwilling  to  acknowledge  my  relation  to  the  Gods.  But 
you  say  nothing  like  it ;  no,  our  resemblance  to  the  Gods, 
it  seems,  was  by  chance.  Must  I  now  seek  for  argu- 
ments to  refute  this  doctrine  seriously?     I  wish  I  could 

11 


242        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

as  easily  discover  what  is  true  as  I  can  overthrow  what 
is'  false. 

XXXIII.  You  have  enumerated  with  so  ready  a  memory, 
and  so  copiously,  the  opinions  of  philosophers,  from  Thales 
the  Milesian,  concerning  the  nature  of  the  Gods,  that  I  am 
surprised  to  see  so  much  learning  in  a  Roman.  But  do 
you  think  they  were  all  madmen  who  thought  that  a  Dei- 
ty could  by  some  possibility  exist  without  hands  and  feet  ? 
Does  not  even  this  consideration  have  weight  with  you 
when  you  consider  what  is  the  use  and  advantage  of  limbs 
in  men,  and  lead  you  to  admit  that  the  Gods  have  no  need 
of  them  ?  What  necessity  can  there  be  of  feet,  without 
walking;  or  of  hands,  if  there  is  nothing  to  be  grasped? 
The  same  may  be  asked  of  the  other  parts  of  the  body,  in 
which  nothing  is  vain,  nothing  useless,  nothing  superflu- 
ous ;  therefore  we  may  infer  that  no  art  can  imitate  the  skill 
of  nature.  Shall  the  Deity,  then,  have  a  tongue,  and  not 
speak — teeth,  palate,  and  jaws,  though  he  will  have  no  use 
for  them  ?  Shall  the  members  which  nature  has  given  to 
the  body  for  the  sake  of  generation  be  useless  to  the  Deity  ? 
Nor  w^ould  the  internal  parts  be  less  superfluous  than  the 
external.  What  comeliness  is  there  in  the  heart,  the  lungs, 
the  liver,  and  the  rest  of  them,  abstracted  from  their  use? 
I  mention  these  because  you  place  them  in  the  Deity  on 
account  of  the  beauty  of  the  human  form. 

Depending  on  these  dreams,  not  only  Epicurus,  Metro- 
dorus,  and  Hermachus  declaimed  against  Pythagoras,  Pla- 
to, and  Empedocles,  but  that  little  harlot  Leontium  pre- 
sumed to  write  against  Theophrastus :  indeed,  she  had  a 
neat  Attic  style ;  but  yet,  to  think  of  her  arguing  against 
Theophrastus !  So  much  did  the  garden  of  Epicurus^ 
abound  with  these  liberties,  and,  indeed,  you  are  always 
complaining  against  them.  Zeno  wrangled.  Why  need 
I  mention  Albutius?  Nothing  could  be  more  elegant  or 
humane  than  Phgedrus;  yet  a  sharp  expression  would  dis- 
gust the  old  man.  Epicurus  treated  Aristotle  with  great 
contumely.  He  foully  slandered  Phaedo,  the  disciple  of 
Socrates.  He  pelted  Timocrates,  the  brother  of  his  com- 
panion Metrodorus,  with  whole  volumes,  because  he  disa- 
greed with  him  in  some  trifling  point  of  i)hilosophy.  He 
'  Epicurus  taught  his  disciples  in  a.  garden. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  243 

was  ungrateful  even  to  Democritus,  whose  follower  he  was ; 
and  his  master  Nausiphanes,  from  whom  he  learned  noth- 
ing, had  no  better  treatment  from  him. 

XXXIV.  Zeno  gave  abusive  language  not  only  to  those 
who  were  then  living,  as  Apollodorus,  Syllus,  and  the  rest, 
but  he  called  Socrates,  who  was  tlie  father  of  philosophy, 
the  Attic  buffoon,  using  the  Latin  word  Scurra.  He  nev- 
er called  Chrysippus  by  any  name  but  Chesippus.  And 
you  yourself  a  little  before,  when  you  were  numbering  up 
a  senate,  as  we  may  call  them,  of  philosophers,  scrupled 
not  to  say  that  the  most  eminent  men  talked  like  foolish, 
visionary  dotards.  Certainly,  therefore,  if  they  have  all 
erred  in  regard  to  the  nature  of  the  Gods,  it  is  to  be  feared 
there  are  no  such  beings.  What  you  deliver  on  that  head 
are  all  whimsical  notions,  and  not  worthy  the  considera- 
tion even  of  old  women.  For  you  do  not  seem  to  be  in 
the  least  aware  what  a  task  you  draw  on  yourselves,  if  you 
should  prevail  on  us  to  grant  that  the  same  form  is  com- 
mon to  Gods  and  men.  The  Deity  would  then  require 
the  same  trouble  in  dressing,  and  the  same  care  of  the 
body,  that  mankind  does.  He  must  walk,  run,  lie  down, 
lean,  sit,  hold,  speak,  and  discourse.  You  need  not  be  told 
the  consequence  of  making  the  Gods  male  and  female. 

Therefore  I  cannot  sufficiently  wonder  how  tliis  chief  of 
yours  came  to  entertain  these  strange  opinions.  But  you 
constantly  insist  on  the  certainty  of  this  tenet,  that  the 
Deity  is  both  happy  and  immortal.  Supposing  he  is  so. 
would  his  happiness  be  less  perfect  if  he  had  not  two  feet  ? 
Or  cannot  that  blessedness  or  beatitude — call  it  which  you 
will  (they  are  both  harsh  terms,  but  we  must  mollify  tliem 
by  use)  —  can  it  not,  I  say,  exist  in  that  sun,  or  in  this 
world,  or  in  some  eternal  mind  that  has  not  human  shape 
or  limbs?  All  you  say  against  it  is,  that  you  never  saw 
any  happiness  in  the  sun  or  the  world.  What,  then? 
Did  you  ever  see  any  world  but  this  ?  No,  you  will  say. 
Why,  therefore,  do  you  presume  to  assert  that  there  are 
not  only  six  hundred  thousand  worlds,  but  that  they  are 
innumerable  ?  Reason  tells  you  so.  Will  not  reason  tell 
you  likewise  that  as,  in  our  inquiries  into  the  most  excel- 
lent nature,  we  find  none  but  the  divine  nature  can  be  hap- 
py and  eternal,  so  the  same  divine  nature  surpasses  us  in 


244        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

excellence  of  mind ;  and  as  in  mind,  so  in  body  ?  Why, 
therefore,  as  we  are  inferior  in  all  other  respects,  should 
we  be  equal  in  form?  For  human  virtue  approaches 
nearer  to  the  divinity  than  human  form. 

XXXV.  To  return  to  the  subject  I  was  upon.  What 
can  be  more  childish  than  to  assert  that  there  are  no  such 
creatures  as  are  generated  in  the  Red  Sea  or  in  India? 
The  most  curious  inquirer  cannot  arrive  at  the  knowledge 
of  all  those  creatures  which  inhabit  the  earth,  sea,  fens,  and 
rivers;  and  shall  we  deny  the  existence  of  them  because 
we  never  saw  them?  That  similitude  which  you  are  so 
very  fond  of  is  nothing  to  the  purpose.  Is  not  a  dog  like 
a  wolf  ?     And,  as  Ennius  says, 

The  monkey,  fililiiest  beast,  how  like  to  man! 

Yet  they  differ  in  nature.  No  beast  has  more  sagacity 
than  an  elephant ;  yet  where  can  you  find  any  of  a  larger 
size?  I  am  speaking  here  of  beasts.  But  among  men,  do 
we  not  see  a  disparity  of  manners  in  persons  very  much 
alike,  and  a  siniilitude  of  manners  in  persons  unlike?  If 
this  sort  of  argument  were  once  to  prevail,  Velleius,  ob- 
serve what  it  would  lead  to.  You  have  laid  it  down  as 
certain  that  reason  cannot  possibly  reside  in  any  but  the 
human  form.  Another  may  affirm  that  it  can  exist  in  none 
but  a  terrestrial  being;  in  none  but  a  being  that  is  born, 
that  grows  up,  and  receives  instruction,  and  that  consists 
of  a  soul,  and  an  infirm  and  pei'ishable  body ;  in  short,  in 
none  but  a  mortal  man.  But  if  you  decline  those  opinions, 
why  should  a  single  form  disturb  you?  You  perceive 
that  man  is  possessed  of  reason  and  understanding,  with 
all  the  infirmities  which  I  have  mentioned  interwoven 
with  his  being;  abstracted  from  Avhich,  you  nevertheless 
know  God,  you  say,  if  the  lineaments  do  but  remain. 
This  is  not  talking  considerately,  but  at  a  venture;  for 
surely  you  did  not  think  what  an  encumbrance  anything 
superfluous  or  useless  is,  not  only  in  a  man,  but  a  tree. 
How  troublesome  it  is  to  have  a  finger  too  much  !  And 
why  so?  Because  neither  use  nor  ornament  requires 
more  than  five ;  but  your  Deity  has  not  only  a  finger  more 
than  he  wants,  but  a  head,  a  neck,  shoulders,  sides,  a 
paunch,  back,  hams,  hands,  feet,  thighs,  and    legs.      Are 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  245 

these  parts  necessary  to  immortality?  Are  they  condu- 
cive to  the  existence  of  the  Deity?  Is  the  face  itself  of 
use?  One  would  rather  say  so  of  the  brain,  the  heart, 
the  lights,  and  the  liver;  for  these  are  the  seats  of  life. 
Tlie  features  of  the  face  contribute  nothing  to  the  preser- 
vation of  it. 

XXXVI.  You  censured  those  wlio,  beholding  those  ex- 
cellent and  stupendous  works,  the  world,  and  its  respect- 
ive parts — the  heaven,  the  earth,  the  seas — and  the  splen- 
dor with  which  they  are  adorned ;  who,  contemplating  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars ;  and  who,  observing  the  maturity 
and  changes  of  the  seasons,  and  vicissitudes  of  times,  in- 
ferred from  thence  that  there  must  be  some  excellent  and 
eminent  essence  that  oi^ginally  made,  and  still  moves,  di- 
rects, and  governs  them.  Suppose  they  should  mistake  in 
their  conjecture,  yet  I  see  what  they  aim  at.  But  what  is 
that  great  and  noble  work  which  appears  to  you  to  be  the 
effect  of  a  divine  mind,  and  from  which  you  conclude  that 
there  are  Gods?  "I  have,"  say  you,  "a  certain  informa- 
tion of  a  Deity  imprinted  in  my  mind."  Of  a  bearded 
Jupiter,  I  suppose,  and  a  helmeted  Minerva. 

But  do  you  really  imagine  them  to  be  such?  How 
much  better  are  the  notions  of  the  ignorant  vulgar,  who 
not  only  believe  the  Deities  have  members  like  ours,  but 
that  they  make  use  of  them ;  and  therefore  they  assign 
them  a  bow  and  arrows,  a  spear,  a  shield,  a  trident,  and 
lightning;  and  though  they  do  not  behold  the  actions  of 
the  Gods,  yet  they  cannot  entertain  a  thought  of  a  Deity 
doing  nothing.  The  Egyptians  (so  much  ridiculed)  held 
no  beasts  to  be  sacred,  except  on  account  of  some  advan- 
tage which  they  had  received  from  them.  The  ibis,  a  very 
large  bird,  witli  strong  legs  and  a  horny  long  beak,  de- 
stroys a  great  number  of  serpents.  Tiiese  birds  keep 
Egypt  from  pestilential  diseases  by  killing  and  devouring 
the  flying  serpents  brought  from  the  deserts  of  Lybia  by 
the  south-west  wind,  which  prevents  the  mischief  that 
may  attend  their  biting  while  alive,  or  any  infection  when 
dead.  I  could  speak  of  the  advantage  of  the  ichneumon, 
the  crocodile,  and  the  cat;  but  I  am  unwilling  to  be  te- 
dious ;  yet  I  will  conclude  with  observing  that  the  barba- 
rians paid  divine  honors  to  beasts  because  of  the  benefits 


24 G        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

they  received  from  them;  whereas  your  Gods  not  only 
confer  no  benefit,  but  are  idle,  and  do  no  single  act  of  any 
description  whatever. 

XXXVII.  "They  have  nothing  to  do,"  your  teacher 
says.  Epicurus  truly,  like  indolent  boys,  thinks  nothing 
preferable  to  idleness ;  yet  those  very  boys,  when  they 
have  a  holiday,  entertain  themselves  in  some  sportive  ex- 
ercise. But  we  are  to  suppose  the  Deity  in  such  an  in- 
active state  that  if  he  should  move  we  may  justly  fear 
he  would  be  no  longer  liappy.  This  doctrine  divests  the 
Gods  of  motion  and  operation;  besides,  it  encourages 
men  to  be  lazy,  as  they  are  by  this  taught  to  believe  that 
the  least  labor  is  incompatible  even  with  divine  felicity. 

But  let  it  be  as  you  would  have  it,  that  the  Deity  is 
in  the  form  and  image  of  a  man.  Where  is  his  abode? 
Where  is  his  habitation?  Where  is  the  place  where  he  is 
to  be  found?  What  is  his  course  of  life?  And  what  is 
it  that  constitutes  the  happiness  which  you  assert  that  he 
enjoys?  For  it  seems  necessary  that  a  being  who  is  to 
be  happy  must  use  and  enjoy  what  belongs  to  him.  And 
with  regard  to  place,  even  those  natures  which  are  inani- 
mate have  each  their  proper  stations  assigned  to  them :  so 
that  the  earth  is  the  lowest;  then  water  is  next  above  the 
earth ;  the  air  is  above  the  water  ;  and  fire  has  the  highest 
situation  of  all  allotted  to  it.  Some  creatures  inhabit  the 
earth,  some  the  water,  and  some,  of  an  amphibious  nature, 
live  in  both.  There  are  some,  also,  which  are  thought  to 
be  born  in  fire,  and  which  often  appear  fluttering  in  burn- 
ing furnaces. 

In  the  first  place,  therefore,  I  ask  you.  Where  is  the  hab- 
itation of  your  Deity  ?  Secondly,  What  motive  is  it  that 
stirs  him  from  his  place,  supposing  he  ever  moves  ?  And, 
lastly,  since  it  is  peculiar  to  animated  beings  to  have  an 
inclination  to  something  that  is  agreeable  to  their  several 
natures,  what  is  it  that  the  Deity  affects,  and  to  what  pur- 
pose does  he  exert  the  motion  of  his  mind  and  reason  ?  In 
short,  how  is  he  happy  ?  how  eternal  ?  Whichever  of  these 
points  you  touch  upon,  I  am  afraid  you  will  come  lamely 
off.  For  there  is  never  a  proper  end  to  reasoning  which 
proceeds  on  a  false  foundation ;  for  you  asserted  likewise 
that  the  form  of  the  Deity  is  perceptible  by  the  mind,  but 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  247 

not  by  sense ;  that  it  is  neither  solid,  nor  invariable  in  num- 
ber; that  it  is  to  be  discerned  by  similitude  and  transi- 
tion, and  that  a  constant  supply  of  images  is  perpetually 
flowing  on  from  innumerable  atoms,  on  which  our  minds 
are  intent;  so  that  we  from  that  conclude  that  divine  nat- 
ure to  be  happy  and  everlasting. 

XXXVIII.  What,  in  the  name  of  those  Deities  concern- 
ing whom  we  are  now  disputing,  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 
For  if  they  exist  only  in  thought,  and  have  no  solidity  nor 
substance,  what  difference  can  there  be  between  thinking 
of  a  Hippocentaur  and  thinking  of  a  Deity?  Other  phi- 
losophers call  every  such  conformation  of  the  mind  a  vain 
motion ;  but  you  term  it  "  the  approach  and  entrance  of 
images  into  the  mind."  Thus,  when  I  imagine  that  I  be- 
hold T.  Gracchus  haranguing  the  people  in  the  Capitol, 
and  collecting  their  suffrages  concerning  M.  Octavius,  I 
call  that  a  vain  motion  of  the  mind :  but  you  afiirm  that 
the  images  of  Gracchus  and  Octavius  are  present,  which 
are  only  conveyed  to  my  mind  when  they  have  arrived  at 
the  Capitol.  The  case  is  the  same,  you  say,  in  regard  to 
the  Deity,  with  the  frequent  representation  of  which  the 
mind  is  so  affected  that  from  thence  it  may  be  clearly  un- 
derstood that  the  Gods^  are  happy  and  eternal. 

Let  it  be  granted  that  there  are  images  by  which  the 
mind  is  affected,  yet  it  is  only  a  certain  form  that  occurs; 
and  why  must  that  form  be  pronounced  happy?  why  eter- 
nal? But  what  are  those  images  you  talk  of,  or  whence 
do  they  proceed  ?  This  loose  manner  of  arguing  is  taken 
from  Democritus ;  but  he  is  reproved  by  many  people  for 
it ;  nor  can  you  derive  any  conclusions  from  it :  the  whole 
system  is  weak  and  imperfect.  For  what  can  be  more  im- 
probable than  that  the  images  of  Homer,  Archilochus,  Rom- 
ulus, Numa,  Pythagoras,  and  Plato  should  come  into  my 
mind,  and  yet  not  in  the  form  in  which  they  existed  ?  How, 
therefore,  can  they  be  those  persons  ?  And  whose  images 
are  they?  Aristotle  tells  us  that  there  never  was  such  a 
person  as  Orpheus  the  poet;'^  and  it  is  said  that  the  verse 

^  By  the  word  Deus,  as  often  used  by  our  autlior,  we  are  to  understand 
all  the  Gods  in  that  theology  then  treated  of,  and  not  a  single  personal 
Deity. 

'  The  best  commentators  on  this  passage  agree  that  Cicero  does  not 


248        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

called  Orphic  verse  was  the  invention  of  Cercops,  a  Pythag- 
orean ;  yet  Orpheus,  that  is  to  say,  the  image  of  him,  as 
you  will  have  it,  often  runs  in  my  head.  What  is  the  rea- 
son that  I  entertain  one  idea  of  the  figure  of  the  same  per- 
son, and  you  another?  Why  do  w^e  image  to  ourselves 
such  things  as  never  had  any  existence,  and  winch  never 
can  have,  such  as  Scyllas  and  Chimaeras?  Why  do  we 
frame  ideas  of  men,  countries,  and  cities  which  we  never 
saw?  How  is  it  that  the  very  first  moment  that  I  choose 
I  can  form  representations  of  them  in  my  mind?  How  is 
it  that  they  come  to  me,  even  in  my  sleep,  without  being 
called  or  sought  after  ? 

XXXIX.  The  whole  affair,  Yelleius,  is  ridiculous.  You 
do  not  impose  images  on  our  eyes  only,  but  on  our  minds. 
Such  is  the  privilege  which  you  have  assumed  of  talking 
nonsense  with  impunity.  But  there  is,  you  say,  a  transi- 
tion of  images  flowing  on  in  great  crowds  in  such  a  way 
that  out  of  many  some  one  at  least  must  be  perceived !  I 
should  be  ashamed  of  my  incapacity  to  understand  this 
if  you,  who  assert  it,  could  comprehend  it  yourselves ;  for 
how  do  you  prove  that  these  images  are  continued  in 
uninterrupted  motion?  Or,  if  uninterrupted,  still  how  do 
you  prove  them  to  be  eternal?  There  is  a  constant  sup- 
ply, you  say,  of  innumerable  atoms.  But  must  they,  for 
that  reason,  be  all  eternal  ?  To  elude  this,  you  have  re- 
course to  equilibration  (for  so,  with  your  leave,  I  will  call 
your  'Iffovofiia),^  and  say  that  as  there  is  a  sort  of  nature 
mortal,  so  there  must  also  be  a  sort  which  is  immortal. 
By  the  same  rule,  as  there  are  men  mortal,  there  are  men 
immortal ;  and  as  some  arise  from  the  earth,  some  must 
arise  from  the  water  also ;  and  as  there  are  causes  which 
destroy,  there  must  likewise  be  causes  which  preserve.  Be 
it  as  you  say ;  but  let  those  causes  preserve  which  have  ex- 
istence themselves.  I  cannot  conceive  these  your  Gods  to 
have  any.  But  how  does  all  this  face  of  things  arise  from 
atomic  corpuscles  ?     Were  there  any  such  atoms  (as  there 

mean  that  Aristotle  affirmed  that  there  was  no  such  person  as  Orplieus, 
but  that  there  was  no  such  poet,  and  that  the  verse  called  Orj)hic  was 
said  to  he  the  invention  of  another.     The  passage  of  Aristotle  to  wiiich 
Cicero  here  alludes  has,  as  Dr.  Davis  observes,  been  long  lost. 
*  A  just  proportion  between  the  dillerent  sorts  of  beings. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  249 

are  not),  they  might  perhaps  impel  one  another,  and  be 
jumbled  together  in  their  motion ;  but  they  could  never 
be  able  to  impart  form,  or  figure,  or  color,  or  animation, 
so  that  you  by  no  means  demonstrate  the  immortality  of 
your  Deity. 

XL.  Let  us  now  inquire  into  his  happiness.  It  is  cer- 
tain that  without  virtue  there  can  be  no  happiness;  but 
virtue  consists  in  action:  now  your  Deity  does  nothing; 
therefore  lie  is  void  of  virtue,  and  consequently  cannot  be 
happy.  What  sort  of  life  does  lie  lead?  He  has  a  con- 
stant supply,  you  say,  of  good  things,  without  any  inter- 
mixture of  bad.  What  are  those  good  things?  Sensual 
pleasures,  no  doubt;  for  you  know  no  delight  of  the  mind 
but  what  arises  from  the  body,  and  returns  to  it.  I  do  not 
suppose,  Velleius,  that  you  are  like  some  of  the  Epicure- 
ans, who  are  ashamed  of  those  expressions  of  Epicurus,^ 
in  which  he  openly  avows  that  he  has  no  idea  of  any  good 
separate  from  wanton  and  obscene  pleasures,  which,  with- 
out a  blush,  he  names  distinctly.  What  food,  therefore, 
what  drink,  what  variety  of  music  or  flowers,  what  kind  of 
pleasures  of  touch,  what  odors,  will  you  offer  to  the  Gods 
to  fill  them  with  pleasures?  The  poets  indeed  provide 
them  with  banquets  of  nectar  and  ambrosia,  and  a  Hebe 
or  a  Ganymede  to  serve  up  the  cup.  But  what  is  it, 
Epicurus,  that  you  do  for  them?  For  I  do  not  see  from 
whence  your  Deity  should  have  those  things,  nor  how  he 
could  use  them.  Therefore  the  nature  of  man  is  better 
constituted  for  a  happy  life  than  the  nature  of  the  Gods, 
because  men  enjoy  various  kinds  of  pleasures;  but  you 
look  on  all  those  pleasures  as  superficial  which  delight  the 
senses  only  by  a  titillation,  as  Epicurus  calls  it.  Where  is 
to  be  the  end  of  this  trifling?  Even  Philo,  who  followed 
the  Academy,  could  not  bear  to  hear  the  soft  and  luscious 
delights  of  the  Epicureans  despised ;  for  with  his  admira- 
ble memory  he  perfectly  remembered  and  used  to  repeat 
many  sentences  of  Epicurus  in  the  very  words  in  w^hich 
they  were   written.      He  likewise  used  to   quote  many, 

^  Some  give  qiios  non  pudeat  earum  Epicuri  vocum ;  but  the  best  cop- 
ies have  not  non;  nor  would  it  be  consistent  with  Cotta  to  say  quos  non 
pudeat,  for  he  throughout  represents  Velleius  as  a  perfect  Epicurean  ia 
every  article. 

11* 


'250  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

which  were  more  gross,  from  Metrodorus,  the  sage  col- 
league of  Epicurus,  who  blamed  his  brother  Timocrates 
because  he  would  not  allow  that  everything  which  had 
any  reference  to  a  happy  life  was  to  he  measured  by  the 
belly ;  nor  has  he  said  this  once  only,  but  often.  You  grant 
what  I  say,  I  perceive;  for  you  know  it  to  be  true.  I  can 
produce  the  books,  if  you  should  deny  it;  but  I  am  not 
now  reproving  you  for  referring  all  things  to  the  standard 
of  pleasure :  that  is  another  question.  What  I  am  now 
showing  is,  that  your  Gods  are  destitute  of  pleasure;  and 
therefore,  according  to  your  own  manner  of  reasoning, 
they  are  not  happy. 

XLT.  But  they  are  free  from  pain.  Is  that  sufficient 
for  beings  who  are  supposed  to  enjoy  all  good  things  and 
the  most  supreme  felicity?  The  T)e\iy,  they  say,  is  con- 
stantly meditating  on  his  owm  happiness,  for  he  has  no 
other  idea  which  can  possibly  occupy  his  mind.  Consid- 
er a  little ;  reflect  what  a  figure  the  Deity  would  make  if 
he  were  to  be  idly  thinking  of  nothing  through  all  eterni- 
ty but  "  It  is  very  well  with  me,  and  I  am  happy ;"  nor  do 
I  see  why  this  happy  Deity  should  not  fear  being  destroy- 
ed, since,  without  any  intermission,  he  is  driven  and  agi- 
tated by  an  everlasting  incursion  of  atoms,  and  since  im- 
ages are  constantly  floating  off  from  him.  Your  Deity, 
therefore,  is  neither  happy  nor  eternal. 

Epicurus,  it  seems,  has  written  books  concerning  sanc- 
tity and  piety  towards  the  Gods.  But  how  does  he  speak 
on  these  subjects  ?  You  would  say  that  you  were  listen- 
ing to  Coruncanius  or  Scsevola,  the  high-priests,  and  not 
to  a  man  who  tore  up  all  religion  by  the  roots,  and  who 
overthrew  the  temples  and  altars  of  the  immortal  Gods; 
not,  indeed,  with  hands,  like  Xerxes,  but  w^ith  arguments ; 
for  what  reason  is  there  for  your  saying  that  men  ought 
to  worship  the  Gods,  when  the  Gods  not  only  do  not  re- 
gard men,  but  are  entirely  careless  of  everything,  and  ab- 
solutely do  nothing  at  all  ? 

But  they  are,  you  say,  of  so  glorious  and  excellent  a 
nature  that  a  wise  man  is  induced  by  their  excellence  to 
adore  them.  Can  there  be  any  glory  or  excellence  in  that 
nature  which  only  contemplates  its  own  happiness,  and 
neither  will  do, nor  does, nor  ever  did  anything?    Besides, 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE   GODS.  251 

what  piety  is  due  to  a  being  from  whom  you  receive  noth- 
ing? Or  how  can  you,  or  any  one  else,  be  indebted  to 
him  who  bestows  no  benefits?  For  piety  is  only  justice 
towards  the  Gods ;  but  what  right  have  they  to  it,  when 
there  is  no  communication  whatever  between  the  Gods 
and  men?  And  sanctity  is  the  knowledge  of  how  we 
ought  to  worship  them ;  but  I  do  not  understand  why 
they  are  to  be  worshipped,  if  we  are  neither  to  receive 
nor  expect  any  good  from  them. 

XLII.  And  why  should  we  worship  them  from  an  ad- 
miration only  of  that  nature  in  w^hich  we  can  behold  noth- 
ing excellent?  and  as  for  that  freedom  from  superstition, 
which  you  are  in  the  habit  of  boasting  of  so  much,  it  is 
easy  to  be  free  from  that  feeling  when  you  have  re- 
nounced all  belief  in  the  power  of  the  Gods ;  unless,  in- 
deed, you  imagine  that  Diagoras  or  Theodorus,  who  ab- 
solutely denied  the  being  of  the  Gods,  could  possibly  be 
superstitious.  I  do  not  suppose  that  even  Protagoras 
could,  who  doubted  whether  there  were  Gods  or  not. 
The  opinions  of  these  philosophers  are  not  only  destructive 
of  superstition,  which  arises  from  a  vain  fear  of  the  Gods, 
but  of  religion  also,  which  consists  in  a  pious  adoration 
of  them. 

What  think  you  of  those  who  have  asserted  that  the 
whole  doctrine  concerning  the  immortal  Gods  was  the  in- 
vention of  politicians,  whose  view  was  to  govern  that  part 
of  the  community  by  religion  which  reason  could  not  in- 
fluence? Are  not  their  opinions  subversive  of  all  relig- 
ion? Or  what  religion  did  Prodicus  the  Chian  leave  to 
men,  who  held  that  everything  beneficial  to  human  life 
should  be  numbered  among  the  Gods?  Were  not  they 
likewise  void  of  religion  who  taught  that  the  Deities,  at 
present  the  object  of  our  prayers  and  adoration,  were  val- 
iant, illustrious,  and  mighty  men  who  arose  to  divinity 
after  death  ?  Euhemerus,  whom  our  Ennius  translated, 
and  followed  more  than  other  authors,  has  particularly 
advanced  this  doctrine,  and  treated  of  the  deaths  and 
burials  of  the  Gods;  can  he,  then,  be  said  to  have  con- 
firmed religion,  or,  rather,  to  have  totally  subverted  it? 
I  shall  say  nothing  of  that  sacred  and  august  Eleusina, 
into  whose  mysteries  the  most  distant  nations  were  initi- 


252         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

ated,  nor  of  the  solemnities  in  Samotbrace,  or  in  Lemnos, 
secretly  resorted  to  by  night,  and  surrounded  by  thick 
and  shady  groves ;  which,  if  they  were  properly  explain- 
ed, and  reduced  to  reasonable  principles,  would  rather  ex- 
plain the  nature  of  things  than  discover  the  knowledge  of 
the  Gods.' 

XLIII.  Even  that  great  man  Democritus,  from  whose 
fountains  Epicurus  Avatered  his  little  garden,  seems  to  me 
to  be  very  inferior  to  his  usual  acuteness  when  speaking 
about  the  nature  of  the  Gods.  For  at  one  time  he  thinks 
tliat  there  are  images  endowed  with  divinity,  inherent  in 
the  universality  of  things;  at  another,  that  the  principles 
and  minds  contained  in  the  universe  are  Gods ;  then  he 
attributes  divinity  to  animated  images,  employing  them- 
selves in  doing  us  good  or  harm  ;  and,  lastly,  he  speaks  of 
certain  images  of  such  vast  extent  that  they  encompass 
the  whole  outside  of  the  universe;  all  which  opinions  are 
more  worthy  of  the  country^  of  Democritus  than  of  De- 
mocritus himself ;  for  who  canfi-ame  in  his  mind  any  ideas 
of  such  images?  who  can  admire  them?  who  can  think 
they  merit  a  religious  adoration? 

But  Epicurus,  when  he  divests  the  Gods  of  the  power 
of  doing  good,  extirpates  all  religion  from  the  minds  of 
men ;  for  though  he  says  the  divine  nature  is  the  best  and 
the  most  excellent  of  all  natures,  he  will  not  allow  it  to 
be  susceptible  of  any  benevolence,  by  which  he  destroys 
the  chief  and  peculiar  attribute  of  the  most  perfect  being. 
For  what  is  better  and  more  excellent  than  goodness  and 
beneficence?  To  refuse  your  Gods  that  quality  is  to  say 
that  no  man  is  any  object  of  their  favor,  and  no  Gods 
either;  that  they  neither  love  nor  esteem  any  one;  in 
short,  that  they  not  only  give  themselves  no  trouble  about 
us,  but  even  look  on  each  other  with  the  greatest  indif- 
ference. 

XLIV.  How  much  more  reasonable  is  the  doctrine  of 
the  Stoics,  whom  you  censure  ?  It  is  one  of  their  maxims 
that  the  wise  are  friends  to  the  wise,  though  unknown  to 
each  other;  for  as  nothing  is  more  amiable  than  virtue,  he 
who  possesses  it  is  worthy  our  love,  to  whatever  country 

^  His  country  was  Abdera,  the  natives  of  which  were  remarkable  for 
their  stupidity. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  253 

lie  belongs.  But  what  evils  do  your  principles  bring,  when 
you  make  good  actions  and  benevolence  the  marks  of  im- 
becility !  For,  not  to  mention  the  power  and  nature  of 
the  Gods,  you  hold  that  even  men,  if  they  had  no  need  of 
mutual  assistance,  would  be  neither  courteous  nor  benefi- 
cent. Is  there  no  natural  charity  in  the  dispositions  of 
good  men  ?  The  very  name  of  love,  from  which  friend- 
ship is  derived,  is  dear  to  men  ;^  and  if  friendship  is  to 
centre  in  our  own  advantage  only,  without  regard  to  him 
whom  we  esteem  a  friend,  it  cannot  be  called  friendship, 
but  a  sort  of  traffic  for  our  own  profit.  Pastures,  lands, 
and  herds  of  cattle  are  valued  in  the  same  manner  on 
account  of  the  profit  we  gather  from  them ;  but  charity 
and  friendship  expect  no  return.  How  much  more  reason 
have  we  to  think  that  the  Gods,  who  want  nothing,  should 
love  each  other,  and  employ  themselves  about  us!  If  it 
were  not  so,  why  should  we  pray  to  or  adore  them  ?  Why 
do  the  priests  preside  over  the  altars,  and  the  augurs  over 
the  auspices  ?  What  have  we  to  ask  of  the  Gods,  and  why 
do  we  prefer  our  vows  to  them  ? 

But  Epicurus,  you  say,  has  written  a  book  concerning 
sanctity.  A  trifling  performance  by  a  man  whose  wit  is 
not  so  remarkable  in  it,  as  the  unrestrained  license  of  writ- 
ing which  he  has  permitted  himself;  for  what  sanctity  can 
there  be  if  the  Gods  take  no  care  of  human  affairs?  Or 
how  can  that  nature  be  called  animated  which  neither  re- 
gards nor  performs  anything?  Therefore  our  friend  Pos- 
idonius  has  well  observed,  in  his  fifth  book  of  the  Nature 
of  the  Gods,  that  Epicurus  believed  there  were  no  Gods, 
and  that  what  he  had  said  about  the  immortal  Gods  was 
only  said  from  a  desire  to  avoid  unpopularity.  He  could 
not  be  so  weak  as  to  imagine  that  the  Deity  has  only  the 
outward  features  of  a  simple  mortal,  without  any  real  so- 
lidity;  that  he  has  all  the  members  of  a  man,  without  the 
least  power  to  use  them — a  certain  unsubstantial  pellucid 
being,  neither  favorable  nor  beneficial  to  any  one,  neither 
regarding  nor  doing  anything.  There  can  be  no  such  be- 
ing in  nature;  and  as  Epicurus  said  this  plainly,  he  allows 

^  This  passage  will  not  admit  of  a  translation  answerable  to  the  sense 
of  the  original.  Cicero  says  tiie  word  amuitia  (friendship)  is  derived 
from  amor  (love  or  aifection). 


254        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

the  Gods,  in  words,  and  destroys  them  in  fact ;  and  if  the 
Deity  is  truly  such  a  being  that  he  shows  no  favor,  no  be- 
nevolence to  mankind,  away  with  him  !  For  why  should 
I  entreat  liim  to  be  propitious?  He  can  be  propitious  to 
none,  since,  as  you  sny,  all  his  favor  and  benevolence  are 
the  effects  of  imbecility. 


BOOK  II. 

I.  When  Cotta  had  thus  concluded,  Vellcius  replied :  I 
certainly  was  inconsiderate  to  engage  in  argument  with  an 
Academician  who  is  likewise  a  rhetorician.  I  should  not 
have  feared  an  Academician  without  eloquence,  nor  a 
rhetorician  without  that  philosophy,  however  eloquent  he 
might  be;  for  I  am  never  puzzled  by  an  empty  flow  of 
words,  nor  by  the  most  subtle  reasonings  delivered  with- 
out any  grace  of  oratory.  But  you,  Cotta,  have  excelled 
in  both.  You  only  wanted  the  assembly  and  the  judges. 
However,  enough  of  this  at  present.  Now,  let  us  hear 
what  Lucilius  has  to  say,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  him. 

I  had  much  rather,  says  Balbus,  hear  Cotta  resume  his 
discourse,  and  demonstrate  the  true  Gods  with  the  same 
eloquence  which  he  made  use  of  to  explode  the  false ;  for, 
on  such  a  subject,  the  loose,  unsettled  doctrine  of  the 
Academy  does  not  become  a  philosopher,  a  priest,  a  Cot- 
ta, whose  opinions  should  be,  like  those  we  hold,  firm 
and  certain.  Epicurus  has  been  more  than  sufficiently 
refuted ;  but  I  would  willingly  hear  your  own  sentiments, 
Cotta. 

Do  you  forget,  replies  Cotta,  what  I  at  first  said — that  it 
is  easier  for  me,  especially  on  this  point,  to  explain  what 
opinions  those  are  Avhich  I  do  not  hold,  rather  than  what 
those  are  which  I  do  ?  Nay,  even  if  I  did  feel  some  cer- 
tainty on  any  particular  point,  yet,  after  having  been  so 
diffuse  myself  already,  I  would  prefer  now  hearing  you 
speak  in  your  turn.  I  submit,  says  Balbus,  and  will  be  as 
brief  as  I  possibly  can;  for  as  you  have  confuted  the. er- 
rors of  Epicurus,  my  part  in  the  dispute  will  be  the  short- 


THE  NATURE   OF  THE  GODS.  255 

er.  Our  sect  divide  the  whole  question  concerning  the 
immortal  Gods  into  four  parts.  First,  they  prove  that 
there  are  Gods ;  secondly,  of  what  character  and  nature 
they  are ;  thirdly,  that  the  universe  is  governed  by  them  ; 
and,  lastly,  that  they  exercise  a  superintendence  over  hu- 
man affairs.  But  in  this  present  discussion  let  us  confine 
ourselves  to  the  first  two  articles,  and  defer  the  third  and 
fourth  till  another  opportunity,  as  they  require  more  time 
to  discuss.  By  no  means,  says  Cotta,  for  we  have  time 
enough  on  our  hands ;  besides  that,  we  are  now  discuss- 
ing a  subject  which  should  be  preferred  even  to  serious 
business. 

II.  The  first  point,  then,  says  Lucilius,  I  think  needs  no 
discourse  to  prove  it ;  for  what  can  be  so  plain  and  evi- 
dent, when  we  behold  the  heavens  and  contemplate  tiie 
celestial  bodies,  as  the  existence  of  some  supreme,  divine 
intelligence,  by  which  all  these  things  are  governed? 
Were  it  otherwise,  Ennius  would  not,  with  a  miiversal  ap- 
probation, have  said. 

Look  up  to  the  refulgent  heaven  above, 
Which  all  men  call,  unanimously,  Jove. 

This  is  Jupiter,  the  governor  of  the  world,  wlio  rules  all 
things  with  his  nod,  and  is,  as  the  same  Ennius  adds, 

of  Gods  and  men  the  sire,' 

an  omnipresent  and  omnipotent  God.  And  if  any  one 
doubts  this,  I  really  do  not  understand  why  the  same  man 
may  not  also  doubt  whether  there  is  a  sun  or  not.  For 
what  can  possibly  be  more  evident  than  this?  And  if  it 
were  not  a  truth  universally  impressed  on  the  minds  of 
men,  the  belief  in  it  would  never  have  been  so  firm ;  nor 
would  it  have  been,  as  it  is,  increased  by  length  of  years, 
nor  would  it  have  gathered  strength  and  stability  through 
every  age.  And,  in  truth,  we  see  that  other  opinions,  being 
false  and  groundless,  have  already  fallen  into  oblivion  by 
lapse  of  time.     Who  now  believes  in  Hippocentaurs  and 

^  This  manner  of  speaking  of  Jupiter  frequently  occurs  in  Homer, 

naTt]p  uvdpwv  re  Oewv  re, 

and  has  been  used  by  Virgil  and  other  poets  since  Ennius. 


256        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Chimseras?  Or  what  old  woman  is  now  to  be  found  so 
weak  and  ignorant  as  to  stand  in  fear  of  those  infernal 
monsters  which  once  so  terrified  mankind  ?  For  time  de- 
stroys the  fictions  of  error  and  opinion,  while  it  confirms 
the  determinations  of  nature  and  of  truth.  And  therefore 
it  is  that,  both  among  us  and  among  other  nations,  sacred 
institutions  and  the  divine  worship  of  the  Gods  have  been 
strengthened  and  improved  from  time  to  time.  And  this 
is  not  to  be  imputed  to  chance  or  folly,  but  to  the  frequent 
appearance  of  the  Gods  themselves.  In  the  war  with  the 
Latins,  when  A.  Posthumius,  the  dictator,  attacked  Octa- 
vius  Mamilius,  the  Tusculan,  at  Regillus,  Castor  and  Pol- 
lux were  seen  fighting  in  our  army  on  horseback;  and 
since  that  the  same  offspring  of  Tyndarus  gave  notice  of 
the  defeat  of  Perses ;  for  as  P.  Vatienus,  the  grandfather 
of  the  present  young  man  of  that  name,  was  coming  in  the 
night  to  Rome  from  his  government  of  Reate,  two  young 
men  on  white  horses  appeared  to  him,  and  told  him  that 
King'  Perses  was  that  day  taken  prisoner.  This  news  he 
carried  to  the  senate,  who  immediately  threw  him  into 
prison  for  speaking  inconsiderately  on  a  state  affair;  but 
when  it  was  confirmed  by  letters  from  Panllus,  he  w\as 
recompensed  by  the  senate  w^ith  land  and  immunities.^ 
Nor  do  Ave  forget  when  the  Locrians  defeated  the  people 
of  Crotone,  in  a  great  battle  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
Sagra,  that  it  was  known  the  same  day  at  the  Olym- 
pic Games.  The  voices  of  the  Fauns  have  been  often 
heard,  and  Deities  have  appeared  in  forms  so  visible 
that  they  have  conipelled  every  one  who  is  not  sense- 
less, or  hardened  in  impiety,  to  confess  the  presence  of  the 
Gods. 

III.  What  do  predictions  and  foreknowledge  of  future 
events  indicate,  but  that  such  future  events  are  shown, 
pointed  out,  portended,  and  foretold  to  men?  From 
whence  they  are  called  omens,  signs,  portents,  prodigies. 
But  though  we  should  esteem  fabulous  what  is  said  of 

^  Perses,  or  Perseus,  the  last  king  of  Macedonia,  was  taken  by 
Ciia3(js  Octavius,  the  praetor,  and  brought  as  prisoner  to  Paullus  iEmil- 
ius,  107IJ.C. 

^  An  exemption  from  serving  in  the  wars,  and  from  paying  public 
taxes. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  257 

Mopsus,^  Tiresias,^  Amphiar.aiis,^  Calclias/  and  Ilelenns' 
(who  would  not  have  been  delivered  down  to  us  as  augurs 
even  in  fable  if  their  art  had  been  despised),  may  we  not 
be  sufficiently  apprised  of  the  power  of  the  Gods  by  do- 
mestic examples?  Will  not  the  temerity  of  P.Claudius, 
in  the  first  Punic  war,  affect  us?  who,  Avhcn  the  poultry 
were  let  out  of  the  coop  and  would  not  feed,  ordered  them 
to  be  thrown  into  the  water,  and,  joking  even  upon  the 
Gods,  said,  with  a  sneer,  "Let  them  drink,  since  they  Avill 
not  eat;"  which  piece  of  ridicule,  being  followed  by  a  vic- 
tory over  his  fleet,  cost  him  many  tears,  and  brought  great 
calamity  on  the  Roman  people.  Did  not  his  colleague 
Junius,  in  the  same  war,  lose  his  fleet  in  a  tempest  by 
disregarding  the  auspices?  Claudius,  therefore,  was  con- 
demned by  the  people,  and  Junius  killed  himself.  Coelius 
says  that  P.  Flaminius,  from  his  neglect  of  religion,  fell  at 
Thrasimenus;  a  loss  which  the  public  severely  felt.  By 
tliese  instances  of  calamity  we  may  be  assured  that  Rome 
owes  her  grandeur  and  success  to  the  conduct  of  those 
who  were  tenacious  of  their  religious  duties;  and  if  we 
compare  ourselves  to  our  neighbors,  we  shall  find  that  we 
are  infinitely  distinguished  above  foreign  nations  by  our 
zeal  for  religious  ceremonies,  though  in  other  things  we 
may  be  only  equal  to  them,  and  in  other  respects  even  in- 
ferior to  them. 

Ought  we  to  contemn  Attius  Navius's  staff,  with  which 

^  Mopsus.  There  were  two  soothsayers  of  tliis  name :  the  first  Avas 
one  of  the  Lapithae,  son  of  Ampycus  and  Cliloris,  called  also  the  son  of 
Apollo  and  Hienantis;  the  other  a  son  of  Apollo  and  Manto,  who  is 
said  to  have  founded  Mallus,  in  Asia  Minor,  where  his  oracle  existed  as 
late  as  the  time  of  Strabo. 

^  Tiresias  was  tlie  great  Theban  prophet  at  tlie  time  of  the  war  of  the 
Seven  against  Thebes. 

*  Amphiaraiis  was  King  of  Argos  (he  had  been  one  of  the  Argonauts 
also).  He  was  killed  after  the  war  of  the  Seven  against  Thebes,  which 
he  was  compelled  to  join  in  by  the  treachery  of  his  wife  Eriphyle,  by 
the  eartli  opening  and  swallowing  him  up  as  he  was  fleeing  from  Peri- 
clymenus. 

*  Calchas  was  the  propliet  of  the  Grecian  army  at  the  siege  of  Troy. 

*  Helenus  was  a  son  of  Priam  and  Hecuba.  He  is  represented  as  a 
prophet  in  the  Philoctetes  of  Sophocles.  And  in  the  ^neid  he  is  also 
represented  as  king  of  part  of  Epirus,  and  as  predicting  to  ^Eneas  the 
dangers  and  fortunes  which  awaited  him. 


258        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

he  clivided  the  regions  of  the  vine  to  find  his  sow  ?^  I 
should  despise  it,  if  I  were  not  aware  that  King  Ilostilius 
had  carried  on  most  important  wars  in  deference  to  his 
auguries ;  but  by  the  negligence  of  our  nobility  the  disci- 
pline of  the  augury  is  now  omitted,  the  truth  of  the  au- 
spices despised,  and  only  a  mere  form  observed ;  so  that 
the  most  important  affairs  of  the  commonwealth,  even  the 
wars,  on  which  the  public  safety  depends,  are  conducted 
without  any  auspices;  the  Peremnia'^  are  discussed;  no 
part  of  the  Acumina^  performed ;  no  select  men  are  called 
to  witness  to  the  military  testaments;''  our  generals  now 
begin  their  wars  as  soon  as  they  have  arranged  the  Au- 
spicia.  The  force  of  religion  was  so  great  among  our  an- 
cestors that  some  of  their  commanders  have,  with  their 
faces  veiled,  and  with  the  solemn,  formal  expressions 
of  rehgion,  sacrificed  themselves  to  the  immortal  Gods 
to  save  their  country.^  I  could  mention  many  of  the 
Sibylline  prophecies,  and  many  answers  of  the  harus- 
pices,  to  confirm  those  things,  which  ought  not  to  be 
doubted. 

IV.  For  example :  our  augurs  and  the  Etrurian  harus- 
pices  saw  the  truth  of  their  art  established  when  P.  Scipio 
and  C.  Figulus  were  consuls ;  for  as  Tiberius  Gracchus, 
who  was  a  second  time  consul,  wished  to  proceed  to  a 

*  This  short  passage  -would  be  very  obscure  to  the  reader  withont  an 
explanation  from  another  of  Cicero's  treatises,  Tiie  expression  here,  ad 
investigandum  suem  regiones  vinece  terminavit,  which  is  a  metaphor  too 
bold,  if  it  was  not  a  sort  of  augural  language,  seems  to  me  to  have  been 
the  effect  of  carelessness  in  our  great  author ;  for  Navius  did  not  divide 
the  regions,  as  he  calls  them,  of  the  vine  to  find,  his  sow,  but  to  find  a 
grape. 

^  The  Peremnia  were  a  sort  of  auspices  performed  just  before  the 
passing  a  river. 

^  The  Acumina  were  a  military  auspices,  and  were  partly  performed 
on  the  point  of  a  spear,  from  which  they  were  called  Acumina. 

*  Those  were  called  testamenta  in procinctu,  which  were  made  by  sol- 
diers just  before  an  engagement,  in  the  presence  of  men  called  as  wit- 
nesses. 

"  This  especially  refers  to  the  Decii,  one  of  whom  devoted  himself  for 
his  country  in  the  war  with  the  Latins,  340  B.C.,  and  his  son  imitated 
the  action  in  the  war  with  the  Samnites,  295  b.c.  Cicero  (Tusc.  i.  37) 
says  that  his  son  did  the  same  thing  in  the  war  with  Pyrrhus  at  the 
battle  of  Asculum,  though  in  other  places  (De  Off.  iii.  4)  he  speaks  of 
only  two  Decii  as  having  signalized  themselves  in  this  manner. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  259 

fresh  election,  the  first  Rogator/  as  he  was  collecting  the 
suffrages,  fell  down  dead  on  the  spot.  Gracchus  never- 
theless went  on  with  the  assembly,  but  perceiving  that  this 
accident  had  a  religious  influence  on  the  people,  he  brought 
the  affair  before  the  senate.  The  senate  thought  fit  to 
refer  it  to  those  who  usually  took  cognizance  of  such 
things.  The  haruspices  were  called,  and  declared  that  the 
man  who  had  acted  as  Rogator  of  the  assembly  had  no 
right  to  do  so ;  to  which,  as  I  have  heard  my  father  say, 
he  replied  with  great  warmth.  Have  I  no  right,  who  am 
consul,  and  augur,  and  favored  by  the  Auspicia  ?  And 
shall  you,  who  are  Tuscans  and  Barbarians,  pretend  that 
you  have  authority  over  the  Roman  Auspicia,  and  a  right 
to  give  judgment  in  matters  respecting  the  formality  of 
our  assemblies?  Therefore,  he  then  commanded  them  to 
withdraw;  but  not  long  afterward  he  wrote  from  his  prov- 
ince'^ to  the  college  of  augurs,  acknowledging  that  in  read- 
ing the  books^  he  remembered  that  he  had  illegally  chosen 
a  place  for  his  tent  in  the  gardens  of  Scipio,  and  had 
afterward  entered  the  Pomoerium,  in  order  to  hold  a  sen- 
ate, but  that  in  repassing  the  same  Pomoerium  he  had 
forgotten  to  take  the  auspices;  and  that,  therefore,  the 
consuls  had  been  created  informally.  The  augurs  laid 
the  case  before  the  senate.  The  senate  decreed  that  they 
should  resign  their  charge,  and  so  they  accordingly  abdi- 
cated. What  greater  example  need  we  seek  for?  The 
wisest,  perhaps  the  most  excellent  of  men,  chose  to  confess 
his  fault,  which  he  might  have  concealed,  rather  than  leave 
the  public  the  least  atom  of  religious  guilt;  and  the  con- 
suls chose  to  quit  the  highest  office  in  the  State,  rather 
than  fill  it  for  a  moment  in  defiance  of  religion.  How 
great  is  the  reputation  of  the  augurs ! 

And  is  not  the  art  of  the  soothsayers  divine?  And 
must  not  every  one  who  sees  what  innumerable  instances 
of  the  same  kind  there  are  confess  the  existence  of  the 

'  The  Rogator,  who  collected  the  votes,  and  pronounced  who  was  the 
person  chosen.  There  were  two  sorts  of  Rogators ;  one  was  the  officer 
here  mentioned,  and  the  other  was  the  Rogator,  or  speaker  of  the  whole 
assembly, 

^  Which  was  Sardinia,  as  appears  from  one  of  Cicero's  Qpistles  to  his 
brother  Quintus. 

'  Their  sacred  books  of  ceremonies. 


260        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Gods?  For  they  who  have  interpreters  must  certainly 
exist  themselves;  now,  there  are  interpreters  of  the  Gods; 
therefore  we  must  allow  there  are  Gods.  But  it  may  be 
said,  perhaps,  that  all  predictions  are  not  accomplished. 
We  may  as  well  conclude  there  is  no  art  of  physic,  because 
all  sick  persons  do  not  recover.  The  Gods  show  us  signs 
of  future  events ;  if  we  are  occasionally  deceived  in  the 
results,  it  is  not  to  be  imputed  to  the  nature  of  the  Gods, 
but  to  the  conjectures  of  men.  All  nations  agree  that 
there  are  Gods ;  the  opinion  is  innate,  and,  as  it  were,  en- 
graved in  the  minds  of  all  men.  The  only  point  in  dispute 
among  us  is,  what  they  are. 

Y.  Tlieir  existence  no  one  denies.  Cleanthes,  one  of  our 
sect,  imputes  the  way  in  which  the  idea  of  the  Gods  is  im- 
planted in  the  minds  of  men  to  four  causes.  The  first  is 
that  which  I  just  now  mentioned — the  foreknowledge  of 
future  things.  The  second  is  the  great  advantages  which 
we  enjoy  from  the  temperature  of  the  air,  the  fertility  of 
the  earth,  and  the  abundance  of  various  benefits  of  other 
kinds.  The  third  cause  is  deduced  from  the  terror  with 
which  the  mind  is  affected  by  thunder,  tempests,  storms, 
snow,  hail,  devastation,  pestilence,  earthquakes  often  at- 
tended with  hideous  noises,  showers  of  stones,  and  rain 
like  drops  of  blood ;  by  rocks  and  sudden  openings  of  the 
earth  ;  by  monstrous  births  of  men  and  beasts ;  by  meteors 
in  the  air,  and  blazing  stars,  by  the  Greeks  called  cometce, 
by  us  crinitce,  the  appearance  of  which,  in  the  late  Octavian 
war,^  were  foreboders  of  great  calamities ;  by  two  suns, 
which,  as  I  have  heard  my  father  say,  happened  in  the 
consulate  of  Tuditanus  and  Aquillius,  and  in  which  year 
also  another  sun  (P.  Africanus)  was  extinguished.  These 
things  terrified  mankind,  and  raised  in  them  a  firm  belief 
of  the  existence  of  some  celestial  and  divine  power. 

His  fourth  cause,  and  that  the  strongest,  is  drawn  from 
the  regularity  of  the  motion  and  revolution  of  the  heavens, 
the  distinctness,  variety,  beauty,  and  order  of  the  sun,  moon, 
and  all  the  stars,  the  appearance  only  of  which  is  suflicient 
to  convince  us  they  are  not  the  effects  of  chance ;  as  when 
we  enter  into  a  house,  or  school,  or  court,  and  observe  the 
exact  order,  discipline,  and  method  of  it,  we  cannot  sup- 
^  The  war  between  Octavius  and  Cinna,  the  consuls. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  261 

pose  that  it  is  so  regulated  without  a  cause,  but  must  con- 
clude that  there  is  some  one  who  commands,  and  to  whom 
obedience  is  paid.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  us  to  avoid 
tlihiking  that  the  wonderful  motions,  revolutions,  and  or- 
der of  those  many  and  great  bodies,  no  part  of  which  is 
impaired  by  the  countless  and  infinite  succession  of  ages, 
must  be  governed  and  directed  by  some  supreme  intelli- 
gent being. 

VI.  Chrysippus,  indeed,  liad  a  very  penetrating  genius; 
yet  such  is  the  doctrine  which  he  delivers,  that  he  seems 
rather  to  have  been  instructed  by  nature  than  to  owe  it  to 
any  discovery  of  his  own.  "If,"  says  he,  "there  is  any- 
thing in  the  universe  which  no  human  reason,  ability,  or 
power  can  make,  the  being  who  produced  it  must  certainly 
be  preferable  to  man.  Now,  celestial  bodies,  and  all  those 
things  which  proceed  in  any  eternal  order,  cannot  be 
made  by  man ;  the  being  who  made  them  is  therefore  pref- 
erable to  man.  What,  then,  is  that  being  but  a  God? 
If  there  be  no  such  thing  as  a  Deity,  what  is  there  better 
than  man,  since  he  only  is  possessed  of  reason,  the  most 
excellent  of  all  things  ?  But  it  is  a  foolish  piece  of  vanity 
in  man  to  think  there  is  nothing  preferable  to  him.  There 
is,  therefore,  something  preferable ;  consequently,  there  is 
certainly  a  God." 

When  you  behold  a  large  and  beautiful  house,  surely 
no  one  can  persuade  you  it  was  built  for  mice  and  wea- 
sels, though  you  do  not  see  the  master ;  and  would  it  not, 
therefore,  be  most  manifest  folly  to  imagine  that  a  world 
so  magnificently  adorned,  with  such  an  immense  variety 
of  celestial  bodies  of  such  exquisite  beauty,  and  that  the 
vast  sizes  and  magnitude  of  the  sea  and  land  were  intend- 
ed as  the  abode  of  man,  and  not  as  the  mansion  of  the 
immortal  Gods  ?  Do  we  not  also  plainly  see  this,  that 
all  the  most  elevated  regions  are  the  best,  and  that  the 
earth  is  the  lowest  region,  and  is  surrounded  with  the 
grossest  air  ?  so  that  as  we  perceive  that  in  some  cities 
and  countries  the  capacities  of  men  are  naturally  duller, 
from  the  thickness  of  the  climate,  so  mankind  in  general 
are  affected  by  the  heaviness  of  the  air  which  surrounds 
the  earth,  the  grossest  region  of  the  world. 

Yet  even  from  this  inferior  intelligence  of  man  we  may 


262  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

discover  the  existence  of  some  intelligent  agent  that  is 
divine,  and  wiser  than  ourselves ;  for,  as  Socrates  says  in 
Xenophon,  from  whence  had  man  his  portion  of  under- 
standing? And,  indeed,  if  any  one  were  to  push  his  in- 
quiries about  the  moisture  and  heat  which  is  diffused 
through  the  human  body,  and  the  earthy  kind  of  solidity 
existing  in  our  entrails,  and  that  soul  by  Avhich  we  breathe, 
and  to  ask  whence  we  derived  them,  it  would  be  plain 
that  we  have  received  one  thing  from  the  earth,  another 
from  liquid,  another  from  fire,  and  another  from  that  air 
which  w^e  inhale  every  time  that  we  breathe. 

yil.  But  where  did  we  find  that  which  excels  all  these 
things — I  mean  reason,  or  (if  you  please,  in  other  terms) 
the  mind,  understanding,  thought,  prudence ;  and  from 
whence  did  we  receive  it?  Shall  the  world  be  possessed 
of  every  other  perfection,  and  be  destitute  of  this  one, 
which  is  the  most  important  and  valuable  of  all?  But 
certainly  there  is  nothing  better,  or  more  excellent,  or 
more  beautiful  than  the  world ;  and  not  only  there  is  noth- 
ing better,  but  we  cannot  even  conceive  anything  superior 
to  it;  and  if  reason  and  wisdom  are  the  greatest  of  all 
perfections,  they  must  necessarily  be  a  j^art  of  what  we 
all  allow  to  be  the  most  excellent. 

Who  is  not  compelled  to  admit  the  truth  of  what  I  as- 
sert by  that  agreeable,  uniform,  and  continued  agreement 
of  things  in  the  universe?  Could  the  earth  at  one  sea- 
son be  adorned  with  flowers,  at  another  be  covered  with 
snow?  Or,  if  such  a  number  of  things  regulated  their 
own  changes,  could  the  approach  and  retreat  of  the  sun 
in  the  summer  and  winter  solstices  be  so  regularly  known 
and  calculated?  Could  the  flux  and  reflux  of  the  sea  and 
the  height  of  the  tides  be  affected  by  the  increase  or  wane 
of  the  moon  ?  Could  the  different  courses  of  the  stars  be 
preserved  by  the  uniform  movement  of  the  whole  heav- 
en? Could  these  tilings  subsist,  I  say,  in  such  a  harmony 
of  all  the  parts  of  the  universe  without  the  continued  in- 
fluence of  a  divine  spirit? 

If  these  points  are  handled  in  a  free  and  copious  man- 
ner, as  I  purpose  to  do,  they  will  be  less  liable  to  the 
cavils  of  the  Academics ;  but  the  narrow,  confined  way  in 
wliicli  Zeno  reasoned  upon  them  laid  them  more  open  to 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  263 

objection;  for  as  running  streams  are  seldom  or  never 
tainted,  while  standing  waters  easily  grow  corrupt,  so  a 
fluency  of  expression  washes  away  the  censures  of  the  cav- 
iller, while  the  narrow  limits  of  a  discourse  which  is  too 
concise  is  almost  defenceless;  for  the  arguments  whicli 
I  am  enlarging  upon  are  thus  briefly  laid  down  by  Zeno : 

YIII.  "That  which  reasons  is  superior  to  that  which 
does  not ;  nothing  is  superior  to  the  world ;  the  world, 
therefore,  reasons."  By  the  same  rule  the  world  may  be 
i:)roved  to  be  wise,  happy,  and  eternal ;  for  the  possession 
of  all  these  qualities  is  superior  to  the  want  of  them ;  and 
nothing  is  superior  to  the  Avorld  ;  the  inevitable  conse- 
quence of  which  argument  is,  that  the  world,  therefore, 
is  a  Deity.  He  goes  on:  "No  part  of  anything  void  of 
sense  is  capable  of  perception;  some  parts  of  the  world 
have  perception;  the  world,  therefore,  has  sense."  He 
jjroceeds,  and  pursues  the  argument  closely.  "  Nothing," 
says  he,"  that  is  destitute  itself  of  life  and  reason  can  gen- 
erate a  being  possessed  of  life  and  reason ;  but  the  world 
does  generate  beings  possessed  of  life  and  reason;  the 
world,  therefore,  is  not  itself  destitute  of  life  and  reason." 

He  concludes  his  argument  in  his  usual  manner  with  a 
simile :  "  If  well-tuned  pipes  should  spring  out  of  the  olive, 
would  you  have  the  slightest  doubt  that  there  was  in  the 
olive-tree  itself  some  kind  of  skill  and  knowledge?  Or  if 
the  plane-tree  could  produce  harmonious  lutes,  surely  you 
would  infer,  on  the  same  principle,  that  music  was  con- 
tained in  the  plane-tree.  Why,  then,  should  we  not  believe 
the  world  is  a  living  and  wise  being,  since  it  produces  liv- 
ing and  wise  beings  out  of  itself?" 

IX.  But  as  I  have  been  insensibly  led  into  a  length  of 
discourse  beyond  my  first  design  (for  I  said  that,  as  the 
existence  of  the  Gods  was  evident  to  all,  there  was  no  need 
of  any  long  oration  to  prove  it),  I  will  demonstrate  it  by 
reasons  deduced  from  the  nature  of  things.  For  it  is  a 
fact  that  all  beings  which  take  nourishment  and  increase 
contain  in  themselves  a  power  of  natural  heat,  without 
wl'-ich  they  could  neither  be  nourished  nor  increase.  For 
everything  which  is  of  a  warm  and  fiery  character  is  agi- 
tated and  stirred  up  by  its  own  motion.  But  that  which 
is  nourished  and  grows  is  influenced  by  a  certain  regular 


264         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

and  equable  motion.  And  as  long  as  this  motion  remains 
in  us,  so  long  does  sense  and  life  remain ;  but  the  moment 
that  it  abates  and  is  extinguished,  we  ourselves  decay  and 
perish. 

By  arguments  like  these,  Cleanthes  shows  how  great  is 
the  power  of  heat  in  all  bodies.  He  observes  that  there 
is  no  food  so  gross  as  not  to  be  digested  in  a  night  and 
a  day ;  and  that  even  in  the  excrementitious  parts,  which 
nature  rejects,  there  remains  a  heat.  The  veins  and  ar- 
teries seem,  by  their  continual  quivering,  to  resemble  the 
agitation  of  fire;  and  it  has  often  been  observed  when  the 
heart  of  an  animal  is  just  plucked  from  the  body  that  it 
palpitates  with  such  visible  motion  as  to  resemble  the  ra- 
pidity of  fire.  Everything,  therefore,  tliat  has  life,  wheth- 
er it  be  animal  or  vegetable,  owes  that  life  to  the  heat  in- 
herent in  it;  it  is  this  nature  of  heat  which  contains  in  it- 
self the  vital  power  which  extends  throughout  the  Avhole 
world.  This  will  appear  more  clearly  on  a  more  close  ex- 
planation of  this  fiery  quaUty,  which  pervades  all  things. 

Every  division,  tlion,  of  the  world  (and  I  shall  touch 
upon  the  most  considei'able)  is  sustained  by  heat;  and 
lirst  it  may  be  observed  in  earthly  substances  that  fire  is 
produced  from  stones  by  striking  or  rubbing  one  against 
another ;  that  "  the  warm  earth  smokes  "^  when  just  turned 
up,  and  that  water  is  drawn  warm  from  Avell-springs ;  and 
this  is  most  especially  the  case  in  the  winter  season,  be- 
cause there  is  a  great  quantity  of  heat  contained  in  the 
caverns  of  the  earth ;  and  this  becomes  more  dense  in  the 
winter,  and  on  that  account  confines  more  closely  the  in- 
nate heat  which  is  discoverable  in  the  earth. 

X.  It  Avould  require  a  long  dissertation,  and  many  rea- 
sons would  require  to  be  adduced,  to  show  that  all  the 
seeds  which  the  earth  conceives,  and  all  those  which  it 
contains  having  been  generated  from  itself,  and  fixed  in 
roots  and  trunks,  derive  all  their  origin  and  increase  from 
the  temperature  and  regulation  of  heat.  And  that  even 
every  liquor  has  a  mixture  of  heat  in  it  is  plainly  demon- 
strated by  the  effusion  of  water ;  for  it  would  not  congeal 
by  cold,  nor  become  solid,  as  ice  or  snow,  and  return  agaio 

*  This,  in  the  original,  is  a  frngment  of  an  old  Latin  verse, 
Terram  funiarc  calcntem. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.        2G5 

to  its  natural  state,  if  it  were  not  that,  when  heat  is  applied 
to  it,  it  again  becomes  liquefied  and  dissolved,  and  so  dif- 
fuses itself.  Therefore,  by  northern  and  other  cold  winds 
it  is  frozen  and  hardened,  and  in  turn  it  dissolves  and  melts 
again  by  heat.  The  seas  likewise,  we  find,  when  agitated 
by  winds,  grow  warm,  so  that  from  this  fact  we  may  un- 
derstand that  there  is  heat  included  in  that  vast  body  of 
water ;  for  we  cannot  imagine  it  to  be  external  and  adven- 
titious heat,  but  such  as  is  stirred  up  by  agitation  from  the 
deep  recesses  of  the  seas ;  and  the  same  thing  takes  place 
with  respect  to  our  bodies,  which  grow  warm  with  motion 
and  exercise. 

And  the  very  air  itself,  which  indeed  is  the  coldest  ele- 
ment, is  by  no  means  void  of  heat ;  for  there  is  a  great 
quantity,  arising  from  the  exhalations  of  water,  whicli  ap- 
pears to  be  a  sort  of  steam  occasioned  by  its  internal  heat, 
like  that  of  boiling  liquors.  The  fourth  part  of  the  uni- 
verse is  entirely  fire,  and  is  the  source  of  the  salutary  and 
vital  heat  which  is  found  in  the  rest.  From  hence  we  may 
conclude  that,  as  all  parts  of  the  world  are  sustained  by 
heat,  the  world  itself  also  has  such  a  great  length  of  time 
subsisted  from  the  same  cause ;  and  so  much  the  more,  be- 
cause we  ought  to  understand  that  that  hot  and  fiery  prin- 
ciple is  so  diffused  over  universal  nature  that  there  is  con- 
tained in  it  a  power  and  cause  of  generation  and  procreation, 
from  which  all  animate  beings,  and  all  those  creatures  of  the 
vegetable  world,  the  roots  of  which  are  contained  in  the 
earth, must  inevitably  derive  their  origin  and  their  increase. 

XI.  It  is  nature,  consequently,  that  continues  and  pre- 
serves the  world,  and  that,  too,  a  nature  which  is  not  des- 
titute of  sense  and  reason ;  for  in  every  essence  that  is  not 
simple,  but  composed  of  several  parts,  there  must  be  some 
predominant  quality  —  as,  for  instance,  the  mind  in  man, 
and  in  beasts  something  resembling  it,  from  which  arise  all 
the  appetites  and  desires  for  anything.  As  for  trees,  and 
all  the  vegetable  produce  of  the  earth,  it  is  thought  to  be 
in  their  roots.     I  call  that  the  predominant  quality,*  which 

'  The  Latin  word  is  principatus,  which  exactly  corresponds  with  the 
Greek  word  here  used  by  Cicero ;  by  which  is  to  be  understood  the  su- 
perior, the  most  prcvaiUng  excellence  in  every  kind  and  species  of  things 
through  the  universe. 

12 


266        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

the  Greeks  call  i)yeiioviK6y ;  which  must  and  ought  to  be 
the  most  excellent  quality,  wherever  it  is  found.  That, 
therefore,  in  which  the  prevailing  quality  of  all  nature  re- 
sides must  be  the  most  excellent  of  all  things,  and  most 
worthy  of  the  power  and  pre-eminence  over  all  things. 

Now,  we  see  that  there  is  nothing  in  being  that  is  not 
a  part  of  the  universe ;  and  as  there  are  sense  and  reason 
in  the  parts  of  it,  there  must  therefore  be  these  qualities, 
and  these,  too,  in  a  more  energetic  and  powerful  degree,  in 
that  part  in  which  the  predominant  quality  of  the  world  is 
found.  The  world,  therefore,  must  necessarily  be  possessed 
of  wisdom ;  and  that  element,  which  embraces  all  things, 
must  excel  in  perfection  of  reason.  The  world,  therefore, 
is  a  God,  and  the  wliole  power  of  the  world  is  contained  in 
that  divine  element. 

The  heat  also  of  the  world  is  more  pure,  clear,  and  live- 
ly, an  J,  consequently,  better  adapted  to  move  the  senses 
than  the  heat  allotted  to  us ;  and  it  vivifies  and  preserves 
all  things  within  the  compass  of  our  knowledge. 

It  is  absurd,  therefore,  to  say  that  the  world,  which  is 
endued  with  a  perfect,  free,  pure,  sj^irituous,  and  active 
heat,  is  not  sensitive,  since  by  this  heat  men  and  beasts  are 
preserved,  and  move,  and  think;  more  especially  since  this 
heat  of  the  world  is  itself  the  sole  principle  of  agitation, 
and  has  no  external  impulse,  but  is  moved  spontaneous- 
ly; for  what  can  be  more  powerful  than  the  world,  whicli 
moves  and  raises  that  heat  by  which  it  subsists? 

XII.  For  let  us  listen  to  Plato,  who  is  regarded  as  a  God 
among  philosophers.  He  says  that  there  are  two  sorts  of 
motion,  one  innate  and  the  other  external;  and  that  that 
which  is  moved  spontaneously  is  more  divine  than  that 
which  is  moved  by  another  power.  This  self-motion  he 
places  in  the  mind  alone,  and  concludes  that  the  first  prin- 
ci^ile  of  motion  is  derived  from  the  mind.  Therefore, 
since  all  motion  arises  from  the  heat  of  the  world,  and 
that  heat  is  not  moved  by  the  effect  of  any  external  im- 
pulse, but  of  its  own  accord,  it  must  necessarily  be  a  mind ; 
from  whence  it  follows  that  the  world  is  animated. 

On  such  reasoning  is  founded  this  opinion,  that  the 
world  is  possessed  of  understanding,  because  it  certainly 
has  more  perfections  in  itself  than  any  other  nature;  for 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  267 

as  there  is  no  part  of  our  bodies  so  considerable  as  the 
whole  of  us,  so  it  is  clear  that  there  is  no  particular  por- 
tion of  the  universe  equal  in  magnitude  to  the  whole  of  it ; 
from  whence  it  follows  that  wisdom  must  be  an  attribute 
of  the  world ;  otherwise  man,  who  is  a  part  of  it,  and  ])0s- 
sessed  of  reason,  would  be  superior  to  the  entire  world. 

And  tlius,  if  we  proceed  from  the  first  rude,  unfinished 
natures  to  the  most  superior  and  perfect  ones,  we  shall  in- 
evitably come  at  last  to  the  nature  of  the  Gods.  For,  in 
the  first  place,  we  observe  that  those  vegetables  Avhich  are 
produced  out  of  the  earth  are  supported  by  nature,  and 
she  gives  them  no  further  supply  than  is  sufficient  to  pre- 
serve them  by  nourishing  them  and  making  them  grow. 
To  beasts  she  has  given  sense  and  motion,  and  a  faculty 
which  directs  them  to  what  is  wholesome,  and  prompts 
them  to  shun  what  is  noxious  to  them.  On  man  she  has 
conferred  a  greater  portion  of  her  favor;  inasmuch  as  she 
has  added  reason,  by  which  he  is  enabled  to  command  his 
passions,  to  moderate  some,  and  to  subdue  others. 

XIII.  In  the  fourth  and  highest  degree  are  those  beings 
which  are  naturally  wdse  and  good,  who  from  the  first  mo- 
ment of  their  existence  are  possessed  of  right  and  consist- 
ent reason,  which  we  must  consider  superior  to  man  and 
deserving  to  be  attributed  to  a  God ;  that  is  to  say,  to  the 
world,  in  which  it  is  inevitable  that  that  perfect  and  com- 
plete reason  should  be  inherent.  Nor  is  it  possible  that  it 
should  be  said  with  justice  that  there  is  any  arrangement 
of  things  in  which  there  cannot  be  something  entire  and 
perfect.  For  as  in  a  vine  or  in  beasts  we  see  that  nature, 
if  not  prevented  by  some  superior  violence,  proceeds  by 
her  own  appropriate  path  to  her  destined  end ;  and  as  in 
painting,  architecture,  and  the  other  arts  there  is  a  point 
of  perfection  which  is  attainable,  and  occasionally  attained, 
so  it  is  even  much  more  necessary  that  in  universal  nature 
there  must  be  some  complete  and  perfect  result  arrived  at. 
Many  external  accidents  may  happen  to  all  other  natures 
which  may  impede  their  progress  to  perfection,  but  noth- 
ing can  hinder  universal  nature,  because  she  is  herself  the 
ruler  and  governor  of  all  other  natures.  That,  therefore, 
must  be  the  fourth  and  most  elevated  degree  to  which  no 
other  power  can  approach. 


268        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

But  this  degree  is  that  on  which  the  nature  of  all  things 
is  placed ;  and  since  she  is  possessed  of  this,  and  she  pre- 
sides over  all  things,  and  is  subject  to  no  possible  impedi- 
ment, the  world  must  necessarily  be  an  intelligent  and 
even  a  wise  being.  But  how  marvellously  great  is  the  ig- 
norance of  those  men  who  dispute  the  perfection  of  that 
nature  which  encircles  all  things ;  or  wlio,  allowing  it  to 
be  infinitely  perfect,  yet  deny  it  to  be,  in  the  first  place, 
animated,  then  reasonable,  and,  lastly,  prudent  and  wise ! 
For  how  without  these  qualities  could  it  be  infinitely  per- 
fect? If  it  were  like  vegetables,  or  even  like  beasts,  there 
would  be  no  more  reason  for  thinking  it  extremely  good 
than  extremely  bad ;  and  if  it  were  possessed  of  reason, 
and  had  not  wisdom  from  the  beginning,  the  world  would 
bo  in  a  worse  condition  than  man ;  for  man  may  grow 
wise,  but  the  world,  if  it  were  destitute  of  wisdom  through 
an  infinite  space  of  time  past,  could  never  acquire  it.  Thus 
it  would  be  worse  than  man.  Bnt  as  that  is  absurd  to  im- 
agine, the  world  must  be  esteemed  wise  from  all  eternity, 
and  consequently  a  Deity :  since  there  is  nothing  exist- 
ing that  is  not  defective,  except  the  universe,  which  is  well 
provided,  and  fully  complete  and  perfect  in  all  its  num- 
bers and  parts. 

XIV.  For  Chrysippus  says,  very  acutely,  that  as  the  case 
is  made  for  the  buckler,  and  the  scabbard  for  the  sword, 
so  all  things,  except  the  universe,  were  made  for  the  sake  of 
something  else.  As,  for  instance,  all  those  crops  and  fruits 
which  the  earth  produces  were  made  for  the  sake  of  ani- 
mals, and  animals  for  man;  as,  the  horse  for  carrying,  the 
ox  for  the  plough,  the  dog  for  hunting  and  for  a  guard. 
But  man  himself  was  born  to  contemplate  and  imitate  the 
world,  being  in  no  wise  perfect,  but,  if  I  may  so  express 
myself,  a  particle  of  perfection  ;  but  the  world,  as  it  com- 
prehends all,  and  as  notliing  exists  that  is  not  contained  in 
it,  is  entirely  perfect.  In  what,  therefore,  can  it  be  defec- 
tive, since  it  is  perfect  ?  It  cannot  want  understanding  and 
reason,  for  they  are  the  most  desirable  of  all  qualities.  The 
same  Clirysippus  observes  also,  by  the  use  of  similitudes, 
thnt  everything  in  its  kind,  when  arrived  at  maturity  and 
perfection,  is  superior  to  that  which  is  not — as,  a  horse  to 
a  colt,  a  dog  to  a  puppy,  and  a  man  to  a  boy — so  whatever 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  269 

is  best  in  the  whole  universe  must  exist  in  some  complete 
and  perfect  being.  But  nothing  is  more  perfect  than  the 
world,  and  nothing  better  than  virtue.  Virtue,  therefore, 
is  an  attribute  of  the  world.  But  human  nature  is  not 
perfect,  and  nevertheless  virtue  is  produced  in  it:  with 
how  much  greater  reason,  then,  do  we  conceive  it  to  be  in- 
herent in  the  world  !  Therefoi-e  the  world  has  virtue,  and 
it  is  also  wise,  and  consequently  a  Deity. 

XV.  The  divinity  of  the  world  being  now  clearly  per- 
ceived, we  must  acknowledge  the  same  divinity  to  be  like- 
wise in  the  stars,  which  are  formed  from  the  lightest  and 
purest  part  of  the  ether,  without  a  mixture  of  any  other 
matter ;  and,  being  altogether  hot  and  transparent,  we  may 
justly  say  they  have  life,  sense,  and  understanding.  And 
Cleanthes  thinks  that  it  may  be  established  by  the  evi- 
dence of  two  of  our  senses — feeling  and  seeing — that  they 
are  entirely  fiery  bodies ;  for  the  iieat  and  brightness  of 
the  sun  far  exceed  any  other  fire,  inasmuch  as  it  enlightens 
the  whole  universe,  covering  such  a  vast  extent  of  space, 
and  its  power  is  such  that  we  perceive  that  it  not  only 
warms,  but  often  even  burns :  neither  of  which  it  could  do 
if  it  were  not  of  a  fiery  quality.  Since,  then,  says  he,  the 
sun  is  a  fiery  body,  and  is  nourished  by  the  vapors  of  the 
ocean  (for  no  fire  can  continue  without  some  sustenance), 
it  must  be  either  like  that  fire  which  we  use  to  warm  us 
and  dress  our  food,  or  like  that  which  is  contained  in  the 
bodies  of  animals. 

And  this  fire,  which  the  convenience  of  life  requires,  is 
the  devourer  and  consumer  of  everything,  and  throws  into 
confusion  and  destroys  whatever  it  reaches.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  corporeal  heat  is  full  of  life,  and  salutary ;  and 
vivifies,  preserves,  cherishes,  increases,  and  sustains  all 
things,  and  is  productive  of  sense  ;  therefore,  says  he,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  which  of  these  fires  the  sun  is  like,  since 
it  causes  all  things  in  their  respective  kinds  to  flourish  and 
arrive  to  maturity ;  and  as  the  fire  of  the  sun  is  like  that 
which  is  contained  in  the  bodies  of  animated  beings,  the 
sun  itself  must  likewise  be  animated,  and  so  must  the  oth- 
er stars  also,  which  arise  out  of  the  celestial  ardor  that  we 
call  the  sky,  or  firmament. 

As,  then,  some  animals  are  generated  in  the  earth,  some 


270  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

in  the  water,  and  some  in  the  air,  Aristotle^  thinks  it  ridic- 
ulous to  imagine  that  no  animal  is  formed  in  that  part  of 
the  universe  which  is  the  most  capable  to  produce  them. 
But  the  stars  are  situated  in  the  ethereal  space ;  and  as 
this  is  an  element  the  most  subtle,  whose  motion  is  contin- 
ual, and  whose  force  does  not  decay,  it  follows,  of  necessity, 
that  every  animated  being  which  is  produced  in  it  must  be 
endowed  with  the  quickest  sense  and  the  swiftest  motion. 
The  stars,  therefore,  being  there  generated,  it  is  a  natu- 
ral inference  to  suppose  them  endued  with  such  a  degree 
of  sense  and  understanding  as  places  them  in  the  rank  of 
Gods. 

XVI.  For  it  may  be  observed  that  they  who  inhabit 
countries  of  a  pure,  clear  air  have  a  quicker  apprehension 
and  a  readier  genius  than  those  who  live  in  a  thick,  foggy 
climate.  It  is  thought  likewise  that  the  nature  of  a  man's 
diet  has  an  effect  on  the  mind;  therefore  it  is  probable 
that  the  stars  are  possessed  of  an  excellent  understanding, 
inasmuch  as  they  are  situated  in  the  ethereal  part  of  the 
universe,  and  are  nourished  by  the  vapors  of  the  earth  and 
sea,  which  are  purified  by  their  long  passage  to  the  heav- 
ens. But  the  invariable  order  and  regular  motion  of  the 
stars  plainly  manifest  their  sense  and  understanding;  for 
all  motion  which  seems  to  be  conducted  with  reason  and 
harmony  supposes  an  intelligent  principle,  that  does  not 
act  blindly,  or  inconsistently,  or  at  random.  And  this  reg- 
ularity and  consistent  course  of  the  stars  from  all  eterni- 
ty indicates  not  any  natural  order,  for  it  is  pregnant  with 
sound  reason,  not  fortune  (for  fortune,  being  a  friend  to 
change,  despises  consistency).  It  follows,  therefore,  that 
they  move  spontaneously  by  their  own  sense  and  divinity. 

Aristotle  also  deserves  high  commendation  for  his  ob- 
servation that  everything  that  moves  is  either  put  in  mo- 
tion by  natural  impulse,  or  by  some  external  force,  or  of 
its  own  accord ;  and  that  the  sun,  and  moon,  and  all  the 
stars  move ;  but  that  those  things  which  are  moved  by 
natural  impulse  are  either  borne  downward  by  their 
weight,  or  upward  by  their  lightness;  neither  of  which 
things  could  be  the  case  with  the  stars,  because  they  move 
in  a  regular  circle  and  orbit.  Nor  can  it  be  said  that 
'  The  passage  of  Aristotle  to  which  Cicero  here  refers  is  lost. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  271 

there  is  some  superior  force  which  causes  the  stars  to  be 
moved  in  a  manner  contrary  to  nature.  For  what  supe- 
rior force  can  there  be  ?  It  follows,  therefore,  that  their 
motion  must  be  voluntary.  And  whoever  is  convinced  of 
this  must  discover  not  only  great  ignorance,  but  great  im- 
piety likewise,  if  he  denies  the  existence  of  the  Gods ;  nor 
is  the  difference  great  whether  a  man  denies  their  exist- 
ence, or  deprives  them  of  all  design  and  action  ;  for  what- 
ever is  wholly  inactive  seems  to  me  not  to  exist  at  all. 
Their  existence,  therefore,  appears  so  plain  that  I  can 
scarcely  think  that  man  in  his  senses  who  denies  it. 

XVII.  It  now  remains  that  we  consider  what  is  the 
character  of  the  Gods.  Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to 
divert  our  thoughts  and  judgment  from  the  information 
of  our  corporeal  sight,  and  the  view  of  objects  which  our 
eyes  are  accustomed  to ;  and  it  is  this  difficulty  which  has 
had  such  an  influence  on  the  unlearned,  and  on  philoso- 
phers^ also  who  resembled  the  unlearned  multitude,  that 
they  have  been  unable  to  form  any  idea  of  the  immortal 
Gods  except  under  the  clothing  of  the  human  figure ;  the 
weakness  of  which  opinion  Cotta  has  so  well  confuted  that 
I  need  not  add  my  thoughts  upon  it.  But  as  the  previous 
idea  which  w^e  have  of  the  Deity  comprehends  two  things 
— first  of  all,  that  he  is  an  animated  being ;  secondly,  that 
there  is  nothing  in  all  nature  superior  to  him — I  do  not 
see  what  can  be  more  consistent  with  this  idea  and  pre- 
conception than  to  attribute  a  mind  and  divinity  to  the 
world,^  the  most  excellent  of  all  beings. 

Epicurus  may  be  as  merry  with  this  notion  as  he  pleases ; 
a  man  not  the  best  qualified  for  a  joker,  as  not  having  the 
wit  and  sense  of  his  country.^  Let  him  say  that  a  voluble 
round  Deity  is  to  him  incomprehensible;  yet  he  shall  nev- 
er dissuade  me  from  a  principle  which  he  himself  approves, 
for  he  is  of  opinion  there  are  Gods  when  he  allows  that 
there  must  be  a  nature  excellently  perfect.     But  it  is  cer- 

^  He  means  the  Epicureans. 

^  Here  the  Stoic  speaks  too  plain  to  be  misunderstood.  His  world, 
his  mundus,  is  the  universe,  and  that  universe  is  his  great  Deity,  in  quo 
sit  totius  natures,  principatus,  in  which  the  superior  excellence  of  univer- 
sal nature  consists. 

^  Athens,  the  seat  of  learning  and  politeness,  of  which  Balbus  will  not 
allow  Epicurus  to  be  worthy. 


2 '7  2  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

tain  that  the  world  is  most  excellently  perfect :  n^r  is  it  to 
be  doubted  that  whatever  has  life,  sense,  reason,  and  under- 
standing must  excel  that  which  is  destitute  of  these  things. 
It  follows,  then,  that  the  world  has  life,  sense,  reason,  and 
understanding,  and  is  consequently  a  Deity.  But  this 
shall  soon  be  made  more  manifest  by  the  operation  of  these 
very  things  which  the  world  causes. 

XYIII.  In  the  mean  while,  Yelleius,  let  me  entreat  you 
not  to  be  always  saying  that  we  are  utterly  destitute  of 
every  sort  of  learning.  The  cone,  you  say,  the  cylinder, 
and  the  pyramid,  are  more  beautiful  to  you  than  the 
sphere.  This  is  to  liave  different  eyes  from  otlier  men. 
But  suppose  they  are  more  beautiful  to  the  sight  only, which 
does  not  appear  to  me,  for  I  can  see  nothing  more  beau- 
tiful than  that  figure  which  contains  all  others,  and  which 
has  nothing  rough  in  it,  nothing  offensive,  nothing  cut  into 
angles,  nothing  broken,  nothing  swelling,  and  nothing  hol- 
low ;  yet  as  there  are  two  forms  most  esteemed,*  the  globe 
in  solids  (for  so  the  Greek  word  o-0a7|oa,  I  think,  should 
be  construed),  and  the  circle,  or  orb,  in  planes  (in  Greek, 
kvkXoq)  ;  and  as  they  only  have  an  exact  similitude  of 
parts  in  which  every  extreme  is  equally  distant  from  the 
centre,  what  can  we  imagine  in  nature  to  be  more  just  and 
proper?  But  if  you  have  never  raked  into  this  learned 
dust'^  to  find  out  these  things,  surely,  at  all  events,  you 
natural  philosophers  must  know  that  equality  of  motion 
and  invariable  order  could  not  be  preserved  in  any  other 
figure.  Nothing,  therefore,  can  be  more  illiterate  than  to 
assert,  as  you  are  in  the  habit  of  doing,  that  it  is  doubtful 
whether  the  world  is  round  or  not,  because  it  may  possi- 
bly be  of  another  shape,  and  that  there  are  innumerable 
worlds  of  different  forms ;  which  Epicurus,  if  he  ever  had 
learned  that  two  and  two  are  equal  to  four,  would  not 
have  said.  But  while  he  judges  of  what  is  best  by  his 
palate,  he  does  not  look  up  to  the  "  palace  of  heaven,"  as 
Ennius  calls  it. 

XIX.  For  as  there  are  two  sorts  of  stars,^  one  kind  of 

^  This  is  Pythagoras's  doctrine,  as  appears  in  Diogenes  Laertiiis. 
'  He  here  alludes  to  mathematical  and  geometrical  instruments. 
'  Balbus  here  speaks  of  the  fixed  stars,  and  of  the  motions  of  the 
orbs  of  the  planets.     He  here  alludes,  says  M.  Bouhier,  to  the  differ* 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  273 

which  measure  their  journey  from  east  to  west  by  immu- 
table stages,  never  in  the  least  varying  from  their  usual 
course,  while  the  other  completes  a  double  revolution  with 
an  equally  constant  regularity;  from  each  of  these  facts 
Ave  demonstrate  the  volubility  of  the  world  (which  could 
not  possibly  take  place  in  any  but  a  globular  form)  and 
the  circular  orbits  of  the  stars.  And  first  of  all  the  sun, 
which  has  the  chief  rank  among  all  the  stars,  is  moved  in 
such  a  manner  that  it  fills  the  whole  earth  with  its  light, 
and  illuminates  alternately  one  part  of  the  earth,  while  it 
leaves  the  other  in  darkness.  The  shadow  of  the  earth 
interposing  causes  night;  and  the  intervals  of  night  are 
equal  to  those  of  day.  And  it  is  the  regular  approaches 
and  retreats  of  the  sun  from  which  arise  the  regulated 
degrees  of  cold  and  heat.  His  annual  circuit  is  in  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  days,  and  nearly  six  hours  more.^ 
At  one  time  he  bends  his  course  to  the  north,  at  another 
to  the  south,  and  thus  produces  summer  and  winter,  with 
the  other  two  seasons,  one  of  which  succeeds  the  decline 
of  winter,  and  the  other  that  of  summer.  And  so  to  these 
four  changes  of  the  seasons  we  attribute  the  origin  and 
cause  of  all  the  productions  both  of  sea  and  land. 

The  moon  completes  the  same  course  every  month 
which  the  sun  does  in  a  year.  The  nearer  she  approaches 
to  the  sun,  the  dimmer  light  does  she  yield,  and  when 
most  remote  from  it  she  shines  with  the  fullest  brilliancy; 
nor  are  her  figure  and  form  only  changed  in  her  wane,  but 
her  situation  likewise,  which  is  sometimes  in  the  north 
and  sometimes  in  the  south.  By  this  course  she  has  a 
sort  of  sunnner  and  winter  solstices ;  and  by  her  influence 
she  contributes  to  the  nourishment  and  increase  of  ani- 
ent and  dinrnal  motions  of  these  stars ;  one  sort  from  east  to  -west,  the 
other  from  one  tropic  to  the  other :  and  this  is  the  construction  which 
our  learned  and  great  geometrician  and  astronomer,  Dr.  Halley,  made 
of  this  passage. 

^  This  mensuration  of  the  year  into  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days 
and  near  six  hours  (by  the  odd  hours  and  minutes  of  which,  in  every 
fifili  year,  the  dies  intercalaris,  or  leap-year,  is  made)  could  not  but  be 
known.  Dr.  Halley  states,  by  Hipparchus,  as  appears  from  the  remains 
of  that  great  astronomer  of  the  ancients.  We  are  inclined  to  think  that 
Julius  Cffisar  had  divided  the  year,  according  to  what  we  call  the  Julian 
year,  before  Cicero  wrote  this  book ;  for  we  see,  in  the  beginning  of  it, 
how  pathetically  he  speaks  of  Ciesar's  usurpation. 

12* 


274        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

mated  beings,  and  to  the  ripeness  and  maturity  of  all  veg- 
etables. 

XX.  But  most  worthy  our  admiration  is  the  motion  of 
those  five  stars  which  are  falsely  called  wandering  stars ; 
for  they  cannot  be  said  to  wander  which  keep  from  all 
eternity  their  approaches  and  retreats,  and  have  all  the 
rest  of  their  motions,  in  one  regular  constant  and  estab- 
lished order.  What  is  yet  more  wonderful  in  these  stars 
which  we  are  speaking  of  is  that  sometimes  they  appear, 
and  sometimes  they  disappear;  sometimes  they  advance 
towards  the  sun,  and  sometimes  tliey  retreat;  sometimes 
they  precede  him,  and  sometimes  follow  him;  sometimes 
they  move  faster,  sometimes  slower,  and  sometimes  they 
do  not  stir  in  the  least,  but  for  a  while  stand  still.  From 
these  unequal  motions  of  the  planets,  mathematicians  have 
called  that  the  "great  year"^  in  which  the  sun,  moon,  and 
five  wandering  stars,  having  finished  their  revolutions,  are 
found  in  their  original  situation.  In  how  long  a  time  this 
is  effected  is  much  disputed,  but  it  must  be  a  certain  and 
definite  period.  For  the  planet  Saturn  (called  by  the 
Greeks  <taivor),  which  is  farthest  from  the  earth,  finishes 
his  course  in  about  thirty  years ;  and  in  his  course  there 
is  something  very  singular,  for  sometimes  he  moves  be- 
fore the  sun,  sometimes  he  keeps  behind  it;  at  one  time 
lying  hidden  in  the  night,  at  another  again  appearing  in 
the  morning ;  and  ever  performing  the  same  motions  in  the 
same  space  of  time  without  any  alteration,  so  as  to  be  for 
infinite  ages  regular  in  these  courses.  Beneath  this  plan- 
et, and  nearer  the  earth,  is  Jupiter,  called  ^aedivy,  which 
passes  the  same  orbit  of  the  twelve  signs^  in  twelve  years, 
and  goes  through  exactly  the  same  variety  in  its  course 
that  the  star  of  Saturn  does.  Next  to  Jupiter  is  the 
planet  Mars  (in  Greek,  Uvpoeig),  which  finishes  its  revolu- 
tion through  the  same  orbit  as  the  two  j^reviously  men- 
tioned,^ in  twenty -four  months,  wanting   six  days,  as  I 

^  The  words  of  Censorinus,  on  this  occasion,  are  to  the  same  effect. 
The  opinions  of  philosophers  concerning  tliis  great  year  are  very  difter- 
ent ;  but  the  institution  of  it  is  ascribed  to  Democritus. 

^  The  zodiac. 

^  Though  Mars  is  said  to  hold  his  orbit  in  the  zodiac  with  the  vest, 
and  to  finish  his  revolution  through  the  same  orbit  (tliat  is,  the  zodiac) 
with  the  other  two,  yet  Balbus  means  in  a  different  line  of  the  zodiac. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.        275 

imagine.  Below  this  is  Mercury  (called  by  the  Greeks 
2r/X/3wv),  which  performs  the  same  course  in  little  less 
than  a  year,  and  is  never  farther  distant  from  the  sun 
than  the  space  of  one  sign,  whether  it  precedes  or  follows 
it.  The  lowest  of  the  five  planets,  and  nearest  the  earth, 
is  that  of  Venus  (called  in  Greek  <^u)cr(f}6poQ).  Before  the 
rising  of  the  sun,  it  is  called  the  morning-star,  and  after 
the  setting,  the  evening-star.  It  has  the  same  revolution 
through  the  zodiac,  both  as  to  latitude  and  longitude,  with 
the  other  planets,  in  a  year,  and  never  is  more  than  two' 
signs  from  the  sun,  whether  it  precedes  or  follows  it. 

XXI.  I  cannot,  therefore,  conceive  that  this  constant 
course  of  the  planets,  this  just  agreement  in  such  various 
motions  through  all  eternity,  can  be  preserved  without  a 
mind,  reason,  and  consideration ;  and  since  we  may  per- 
ceive these  qualities  in  the  stars,  we  cannot  but  place  them 
in  the  rank  of  Gods.  Those  which  are  called  the  fixed 
stars  have  the  same  indications  of  reason  and  prudence. 
Their  motion  is  daily,  regular,  and  constant.  They  do  not 
move  with  the  sky,  nor  have  they  an  adhesion  to  the  fir- 
mament, as  they  who  are  ignorant  of  natural  philosophy 
afiirm.  For  the  sky,  which  is  thin,  transparent,  and  suf- 
fused wdth  an  equal  heat,  does  not  seem  by  its  nature  to 
have  power  to  whirl  about  the  stars,  or  to  be  proper  to 
contain  them.  The  fixed  stars,  therefore,  have  their  own 
sphere,  separate  and  free  from  any  conjunction  with  the 
sky.  Their  perpetual  courses,  with  that  admirable  and 
incredible  regularity  of  theirs,  so  plainly  declare  a  divine 
power  and  mind  to  be  in  them,  that  he  who  cannot  per- 
ceive that  they  are  also  endowed  with  divine  power  must 
be  incapable  of  all  perception  whatever. 

In  the  heavens,  therefore,  there  is  nothing  fortuitous, 
unadvised,  inconstant,  or  variable :  all  there  is  order, 
truth,  reason,  and  constancy ;  and  all  the  things  which  are 
destitute  of  these  qualities  are  counterfeit,  deceitful,  and 
erroneous,  and  have  their  residence  about  the  earth"  be- 
neath the  moon,  the  lowest  of  all  the  planets.     He,  there- 

'  According  to  late  observations,  it  never  goes  but  a  sign  and  a  half 
from  the  sun. 

^  These,  Dr.  Davis  says,  are  "aerial  fires;"  concerning  which  he  re- 
fers to  the  second  book  of  Pliny. 


276        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

fore,  who  believes  that  this  admirable  order  and  almost 
incredible  regularity  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  by  which  tlie 
preservation  and  entire  safety  of  all  things  is  secured,  is 
destitute  of  intelligence,  must  be  considered  to  be  himself 
wholly  destitute  of  all  intellect  whatever. 

I  think,  then,  I  shall  not  deceive  myself  in  maintaining 
this  dispute  upon  the  principle  of  Zeno,  who  went  the 
farthest  in  his  search  after  truth. 

XXII.  Zeno,  then,  defines  nature  to  be  "  an  artificial 
fire,  proceeding  in  a  regular  way  to  generation ;"  for  he 
thinks  that  to  create  and  beget  are  especial  properties  of 
art,  and  that  whatever  may  be  wrought  by  the  hands  of 
our  artificers  is  much  more  skilfully  performed  by  nature, 
that  is,  by  this  artificial  fire,  which  is  the  master  of  all 
other  arts. 

According  to  this  manner  of  reasoning,  every  particu- 
lar nature  is  artificial,  as  it  operates  agreeably  to  a  certain 
method  peculiar  to  itself;  but  that  universal  nature  which 
embraces  all  things  is  said  by  Zeno  to  be  not  only  artifi- 
cial, but  absolutely  the  artificer,  ever  thinking  and  provid- 
ing all  things  useful  and  proper;  and  as  every  particular 
nature  owes  its  rise  and  increase  to  its  own  proper  seed, 
so  universal  nature  has  all  her  motions  voluntary,  has  af- 
fections and  desires  (by  the  Greeks  called  opfxac)  produc- 
tive of  actions  agreeable  to  them,  like  us,  who  have  sense 
and  understanding  to  direct  us.  Such,  then,  is  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  universe  ;  for  which  reason  it  may  be  prop- 
erly termed  prudence  or  providence  (in  Greek,  7rp6yoia)y 
since  her  chiefest  care  and  employment  is  to  provide  all 
things  fit  for  its  duration,  that  it  may  want  nothing,  and, 
above  all,  that  it  may  be  adorned  with  all  perfection  of 
beauty  and  ornament. 

XXIII.  Thus  far  have  I  spoken  concerning  the  universe, 
and  also  of  the  stars ;  from  whence  it  is  apparent  that 
there  is  almost  an  infinite  number  of  Gods,  always  in  ac- 
tion, but  without  labor  or  fatigue;  for  they  are  not  com- 
posed of  veins,  nerves,  and  bones ;  their  food  and  drink 
are  not  such  as  cause  humors  too  gross  or  too  subtle ;  nor 
are  their  bodies  such  as  to  be  subject  to  the  fear  of  falls 
or  blows,  or  in  danger  of  diseases  from  a  weariness  of 
limbs.     Epicurus,  to  secure  his  Gods  from  such  accidents, 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  211 

has  made  them  only  outlines  of  Deities,  void  of  action ; 
but  our  Gods  being  of  the  most  beautiful  form,  and  situ- 
ated in  the  purest  region  of  the  heavens,  dispose  and  rule 
their  course  in  such  a  manner  that  they  seem  to  contribute 
to  the  support  and  preservation  of  all  things. 

Besides  these,  there  are  many  other  natures  which  have 
with  reason  been  deified  by  the  wisest  Grecians,  and  by 
our  ancestors,  in  consideration  of  the  benefits  derived  from 
them;  for  they  were  persuaded  that  whatever  was  of 
great  utility  to  human  kind  must  proceed  from  divine 
goodness,  and  the  name  of  the  Deity  was  applied  to  that 
which  the  Deity  produced,  as  when  we  call  corn  Ceres, 
and  wine  Bacchus ;  whence  that  saying  of  Terence,^ 

Without  Ceres  and  Bacchus,  Venus  starves. 

And  any  quality,  also,  in  which  there  Avas  any  singular  vir- 
tue was  nominated  a  Deity,  such  as  Faith  and  Wisdom, 
which  are  placed  among  the  divinities  in  the  Capitol ;  the 
last  by  JEmilius  Scaurus,  but  Faith  was  consecrated  before 
by  Atilius  Calatinus.  You  see  the  temple  of  Virtue  and 
that  of  Honor  repaired  by  M.  Marcellus,  erected  former- 
ly, in  the  Ligurian  war,  by  Q.  Maximus.  Need  I  mention 
those  dedicated  to  Help,  Safety,  Concord,  Liberty,  and 
Victory,  which  have  been  called  Deities,  because  their  ef- 
ficacy has  been  so  great  that  it  could  not  have  proceeded 
from  any  but  from  some  divine  power?  In  like  manner 
are  the  names  of  Cupid,  Voluptas,  and  of  Lubentine  Venus 
consecrated,  though  they  were  things  vicious  and  not  nat- 
ural, whatever  Velleius  may  think  to  the  contrary,  for 
they  frequently  stimulate  nature  in  too  violent  a  manner. 
Everything,  then,  from  which  any  great  utility  proceeded 
was  deified ;  and,  indeed,  the  names  I  have  just  now 
mentioned  are  declaratory  of  the  particular  virtue  of  each 
Deity. 

XXIV.  It  has  been  a  general  custom  likewise,  that  men 
who  have  done  important  service  to  the  public  should  be 
exalted  to  heaven  by  fame  and  universal  consent.  Thus 
Hercules,  Castor  and  Pollux,  ^sculapius,  and  Liber  be- 
came Gods  (I  mean  Liber^  the  son  of  Semele,  and  not 
him^  whom  our  ancestors  consecrated  in  such  state  and 

'  In  the  Eunuch  of  Terence.        "^  Bacchus.        ^  Tlie  son  of  Ceres. 


278        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

solemnity  with  Ceres  and  Libera ;  the  difference  in  which 
may  be  seen  in  our  Mysteries/  But  because  the  offsprings 
of  our  bodies  are  called  "Liberi"  (children),  therefore  the 
offsprings  of  Ceres  are  called  Liber  and  Libera  (Libera^ 
is  the  feminine,  and  Liber  the  masculine) ;  thus  likewise 
Romulus,  or  Quirinus  —  for  they  are  thought  to  be  the 
same — became  a  God. 

They  are  justly  esteemed  as  Deities,  since  their  souls 
subsist  and  enjoy  eternity,  from  whence  they  are  perfect 
and  immortal  beings. 

There  is  another  reason,  too,  and  that  founded  on  natu- 
ral philosophy,  which  has  greatly  contributed  to  the  num- 
ber of  Deities ;  namely,  the  custom  of  representing  in  hu- 
man form  a  crowd  of  Gods  who  have  supplied  the  poets 
with  fables,  and  filled  mankind  with  all  sorts  of  supersti- 
tion. Zeno  has  treated  of  this  subject,  but  it  has  been  dis- 
cussed more  at  length  by  Cleanthes  and  Chrysippus.  All 
Greece  was  of  opinion  that  Coelum  was  castrated  by  his 
son  Saturn,^  and  that  Saturn  was  chained  by  his  son  Jupi- 
ter. In  these  impious  fables,  a  physical  and  not  inelegant 
moaning  is  contained ;  for  they  would  denote  that  the  ce- 
lestial, most  exalted,  and  ethereal  nature — that  is,  the  fiery 
nature,  which  produces  all  things  by  itself — is  destitute  of 
that  part  of  the  body  which  is  necessary  for  the  act  of 
generation  by  conjunction  with  another. 

XXY.  By  Saturn  they  mean  that  which  comprehends 
the  course  and  revolution  of  times  and  seasons ;  the  Greek 
name  for  which  Deity  implies  as  much,  for  he  is  called 

'  The  books  of  Ceremonies. 

^  This  Libera  is  taken  for  Proserpine,  who,  \\\\\i  her  brother  Liber, 
was  consecrated  by  the  Romans ;  all  which  are  parts  of  nature  in  pro- 
sopopoeias. Cicero,  therefore,  makes  Balbns  distinguish  between  the 
person  Liber,  or  Bacchus,  and  the  Liber  which  is  a  part  of  nature  in 
prosopopoeia. 

^  These  allegorical  fables  are  largely  related  by  Hesiod  in  his  The- 
ogony. 

Horace  says  exactly  the  same  thing : 

Hac  arte  Polhix  et  vagus  Hercules 
Euisus  arces  attigit  igneas  : 
Qnos  inter  Augustus  recumbens 
Pnrpureo  bibit  ore  nectar. 
HAc  te  nierentem,  Bacche  pater, tuse 
Vexere  tigres  iudocili  jugnm 
Collo  ferentes :  hue  Quirinus 
Martis  equis  Acherouta  fugit.— Hor.  iii.  3. 9. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.        279 

KpopoQ,  which  is  the  same  with  Xpovoc,  that  is,  a  "  space  of 
time."  But  he  is  called  Saturn,  because  he  is  filled  (sa- 
turatur)  with  years ;  and  he  is  usually  feigned  to  have  de- 
voured his  children,  because  time,  ever  insatiable,  consumes 
the  rolling  years;  but  to  restrain  him  from  immoderate 
haste,  Jupiter  has  confined  him  to  the  course  of  the  stars, 
which  are  as  chains  to  him.  Jupiter  (that  is,  juvaiis  pater) 
signifies  a  "  helping  father,"  whom,  by  changing  the  cases, 
we  call  Jo\Q,^  ajuva?ido.  The  poets  call  him  "father  of 
Gods  and  men;"^  and  our  ancestors  "the  most  good,  the 
most  great;"  and  as  there  is  something  more  glorious  in 
itself,  and  more  agreeable  to  others,  to  be  good  (that  is, 
beneficent)  than  to  be  great,  the  title  of  "  most  good  "  pre- 
cedes that  of  "  most  great."  This,  then,  is  he  whom  En- 
nius  means  in  the  following  passage,  before  quoted — 

Look  up  to  the  refulgent  heaven  above, 
Which  all  men  call,  unanimously,  Jove : 

which  is  more  plainly  expressed  than  in  this  other  pas- 
sage^ of  the  same  poet — 

On  whose  account  I'll  curse  that  flood  of  light, 
Whate'er  it  is  above  that  shines  so  bright. 

Our  augurs  also  mean  the  same,  when,  for  the  "  thunder- 
ing and  Hghtning  heaven,"  they  say  the" thundering  and 
lightning  Jove."  Euripides,  among  many  excellent  things, 
has  this : 

The  vast,  expanded,  boundless  sky  behold. 
See  it  with  soft  embrace  the  earth  enfold  ; 
This  own  the  chief  of  Deities  above. 
And  this  acknowledge  by  the  name  of  Jove. 

XXVI.  The  air,  according  to  the  Stoics,  which  is  be- 
tween the  sea  and  the  heaven,  is  consecrated  by  the  name 
of  Juno,  and  is  called  the  sister  and  w4fe  of  Jove,  because 

^  Cicero  means  by  conversis  casihus,  varying  the  cases  from  the  com- 
mon rule  of  declension ;  that  is,  by  departing  from  the  true  grammatical 
rules  of  speech  ;  for  if  we  would  keep  to  it,  we  should  decline  the  word 
Jupiter,  Jupiteris  in  the  second  case,  etc. 

^  Pater  divumque  hominuinque. 

^  The  common  reading  is,  planiusque  alio  loco  idem ;  which,  as  Dr. 
Davis  obseiTCS,  is  absurd  ;  therefore,  in  his  note,  he  prefers  planius  quam 
alio  loco  idem,  from  two  copies,  in  which  sense  I  have  translated  it. 


280        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

it  resembles  the  sky,  and  is  in  close  conjunction  with  it. 
They  have  made  it  feminine,  because  there  is  nothing 
softer.  But  I  believe  it  is  called  Juno,  a  juvando  (from 
helping). 

To  make  three  separate  kingdoms,  by  fable,  there  re- 
mained yet  the  water  and  the  earth.  The  dominion  of  the 
sea  is  given,  therefore,  to  Neptune,  a  brother,  as  he  is  called, 
of  Jove ;  whose  name,  Neptunus — as  Portunus,  a  portu, 
from  a  port — is  derived  a  nanclo  (from  swimming),  the  first 
letters  being  a  little  changed.  The  sovereignty  and  power 
over  the  earth  is  the  portion  of  a  God,  to  whom  we,  as  well 
as  the  Greeks,  have  given  a  name  that  denotes  riches  (in 
Latin,  Dis',  in  Greek,  nXowrwj^),  because  all  things  arise  from 
the  earth  and  return  to  it.  He  forced  away  Proserpine  (in 
Greek  called  nepaf^ovr/),  by  which  the  poets  mean  the  "  seed 
of  corn,"  from  wlience  comes  their  fiction  of  Ceres,  the 
mother  of  Proserpine,  seeking  for  her  daughter,  who  was 
hidden  from  her.  She  is  called  Ceres,  which  is  the  same 
as  Geres — a  gerencUs  frugihus^ — "  from  bearing  fruit,"  the 
first  letter  of  the  word  being  altered  after  the  manner  of 
the  Greeks,  for  by  them  she  is  called  Arjfifjrrjp,  the  same  as 
Ti]fi}]-r)p.^  Again,  he  (qui  magna  vortei^et)  "  who  brings 
about  mighty  changes  "  is  called  Mavors ;  and  Minerva  is 
so  called  because  {mimieret,  or  7nina7^etur)  she  diminishes 
or  menaces. 

XXVII.  And  as  the  beginnings  and  endings  of  all  things 
are  of  the  greatest  importance,  therefore  they  Avould  have 
their  sacrifices  to  begin  with  Janus.^  His  name  is  derived 
ah  eu7ido,  from  passing ;  from  whence  thorough  passages 
are  called  Jaw^,  and  the  outward  doors  of  common  houses 
are  called  Jam^ce.  The  name  of  Vesta  is,  from  the  Greeks, 
the  same  with  their  'Eor/a.  Her  province  is  over  altars 
and  hearths ;  and  in  the  name  of  this  Goddess,  who  is  the 
keeper  of  all  things  within,  prayers  and  sacrifices  are  con- 
cluded. The  Dii  Penates,  "household  Gods,"  have  some 
affinity  with  this  power,  and  are  so  called  either  from  2^^- 

*  From  the  verb  gero,  to  bear. 

^  That  is,  "mother  earth." 

^  Janus  is  said  to  be  tlie  first  wlio  erected  temples  in  Italy,  and  insti- 
tuted religious  rites,  and  from  whom  the  first  month  in  the  Iloman  cal' 
cndar  is  derived. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  281 

nus,  "  all  kind  of  human  provisions,"  or  because  penitus 
insident  (they  reside  within),  from  which,  by  the  poets, 
thoy  are  called  penetrales  also.  Apollo,  a  Greek  name,  is 
called  Sol,  the  sun  ;  and  Diana,  Lima,  the  moon.  The  sun 
{sol)  is  so  named  either  because  he  is  solus  (alone),  so  emi- 
nent above  all  the  stars;  or  because  he  obscures  all  the 
stars,  and  appears  alone  as  soon  as  he  rises.  Luna,  the 
moon,  is  so  called  a  lucendo  (from  shining) ;  she  bears  the 
name  also  of  Lucina :  and  as  in  Greece  the  women  in  labor 
invoke  Diana  Lucifera,  so  here  they  invoke  Juno  Lucina. 
She  is  likewise  called  Diana  omnivaga,  not  a  venando 
(from  hunting),  but  because  she  is  reckoned  one  of  the 
seven  stars  that  seem  to  wander.^  She  is  called  Diana 
because  she  makes  a  kind  of  day  of  the  night;'*  and  pre- 
sides over  births,  because  the  delivery  is  effected  some- 
times in  seven,  or  at  most  in  nine,  courses  of  the  moon ; 
which,  because  they  make  rnensa  spatia  (measured  spaces), 
are  called  menses  (months).  This  occasioned  a  pleasant 
observation  of  Timaeus  (as  he  has  many).  Having  said  in 
his  history  that "  the  same  night  in  which  Alexander  was 
born,  the  temple  of  Diana  at  Ephesus  was  burned  down," 
he  adds, "It  is  not  in  the  least  to  be  wondered  at,  because 
Diana,  being  willing  to  assist  at  the  labor  of  Olympias,^ 
was  absent  from  home."  But  to  this  Goddess,  because  ad 
7'es  o?nnes  vetiiret — "she  has  an  influence  upon  all  things" 
— we  have  given  the  appellation  of  Venus,*  from  whom  the 
word  veniistas  (beauty)  is  rather  derived  than  Venus  from 
venustas. 

XXVIII.  Do  you  not  see,  therefore,  how,  from  the  pro- 
ductions of  nature  and  the  useful  inventions  of  men,  have 
arisen  fictitious  and  imaginary  Deities,  which  have  been 
the  foundation  of  false  opinions,  pernicious  errors,  and 
Avretched  superstitions  ?  For  we  know  how  the  different 
forms  of  the  Gods — their  ages,  apparel,  ornaments ;  their 

*  Stellce  vagantes. 

^  Noctu  quasi  diem  efficeret.     Ben  Jonson  says  the  same  thing : 

Thou  that  mak'st  a  day  of  uight, 

Goddess  excellently  bright.— Ode  to  the  Moon. 

'  Olympias  was  the  motlier  of  Alexander. 

*  Venus  is  here  said  to  be  one  of  the  names  of  Diana,  because  ad  res 
omnes  veniret ;  but  she  is  not  supposed  to  be  the  same  as  the  mother  of 
Cupid. 


282        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

pedigrees,  marriages,  relations,  and  everything  belonging 
to  them — are  adapted  to  human  weakness  and  represented 
with  our  passions ;  with  lust,  sorrow,  and  anger,  according 
to  fabulous  history:  they  have  had  wars  and  combats, not 
only,  as  Homer  relates,  when  they  have  interested  them- 
selves in  two  different  armies,  but  when  they  have  fought 
battles  in  their  own  defence  against  the  Titans  and  giants. 
These  stories,  of  the  greatest  weakness  and  levity,  are  re- 
lated and  believed  w^ith  the  most  implicit  folly. 

But,  rejecting  these  fables  with  contempt,  a  Deity  is 
diffused  in  every  part  of  nature ;  in  earth  under  the  name 
of  Ceres,  in  the  sea  under  the  name  of  Neptune,  in  oth- 
er parts  under  other  names.  Yet  whatever  they  are,  and 
whatever  characters  and  dispositions  they  have,  and  what- 
ever name  custom  has  given  them,  we  are  bound  to  wor- 
ship and  adore  them.  The  best,  the  chastest,  the  most  sa- 
cred and  pious  worship  of  the  Gods  is  to  reverence  them 
always  with  a  pure,  perfect,  and  unpolluted  mind  and 
voice ;  for  our  ancestors,  as  well  as  the  philosophers,  have 
separated  superstition  from  religion.  They  who  prayed 
whole  days  and  sacrificed,  that  their  children  might  sur- 
vive them  {lit  superstites  essejit),  were  called  superstitious, 
which  word  became  afterward  more  general ;  but  they 
who  diligently  perused,  and,  as  we  may  say,  read  or  prac- 
tised over  again,  all  the  duties  relating  to  the  worship  of 
the  Gods,  were  called  religiosi — religious,  from  relegendo — 
"reading  over  again,  or  practising;"  as  e/^^aw^es,  elegant, 
ex  eligendo,  "  from  choosing,  making  a  good  choice ;"  dili- 
gentes,  diligent,  ex  diligendo,  "  from  attending  on  what  we 
love;"  intelligentes,  intelligent,  from  understanding  —  for 
the  signification  is  derived  in  the  same  manner.  Thus  are 
the  words  superstitious  and  religious  understood ;  the  one 
being  a  term  of  reproach,  the  other  of  commendation.  I 
think  I  have  now  sufficiently  demonstrated  that  there  are 
Gods,  and  what  they  are. 

XXIX.  I  am  now  to  show  that  the  world  is  governed  by 
the  providence  of  the  Gods.  This  is  an  important  point, 
which  you  Academics  endeavor  to  confound  ;  and,  indeed, 
the  whole  contest  is  with  you,  Cotta;  for  your  sect,Vel- 
leius,  know  very  little  of  what  is  said  on  different  subjects 
by  other  schools.     You  read  and  have  a  taste  only  for 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  283 

your  own  books,  and  condemn  all  others  without  exami- 
nation. For  instance,  when  you  mentioned  yesterday^  that 
prophetic  old  dame  Upuvoia,  Providence,  invented  by  the 
Stoics,  you  were  led  into  that  error  by  imagining  that 
Providence  was  made  by  them  to  be  a  particular  Deity 
that  governs  the  whole  universe,  whereas  it  is  only  spoken 
in  a  short  manner;  as  when  it  is  said  "The  commonwealth 
of  Athens  is  governed  by  the  council,"  it  is  meant  "  of  the 
Areopagus;""  so  when  we  say  "Tlie  world  is  governed  by 
providence,"  we  mean  "by  the  providence  of  the  Gods." 
To  express  ourselves,  therefore,  more  fully  and  clearly, 
we  say,  "The  world  is  governed  by  the  providence  of  the 
Gods."  Be  not,  therefore,  lavish  of  your  railleries,  of 
which  your  sect  has  little  to  spare :  if  I  may  advise  you, 
do  not  attempt  it.  It  does  not  become  you,  it  is  not  your 
talent,  nor  is  it  in  your  power.  This  is  not  applied  to  you 
in  particular  who  have  the  education  and  politeness  of  a 
Roman,  but  to  all  your  sect  in  general,  and  especially  to 
your  leader^ — a  man  unpolished,  illiterate,  insulting,  with- 
out wit,  without  reputation,  without  elegance. 

XXX.  I  assert,  then,  that  the  universe,  with  all  its  parts, 
was  originally  constituted,  and  has,  without  any  cessation, 
been  ever  governed  by  the  providence  of  the  Gods.  This 
argument w^e  Stoics  commonly  divide  into  three  parts;  the 
first  of  which  is,  that  the  existence  of  the  Gods  being  once 
known,  it  must  follow  that  the  world  is  governed  by  their 
wisdom ;  the  second,  that  as  everything  is  under  the  di- 
rection of  an  intelligent  nature,  which  has  produced  that 
beautiful  order  in  the  world,  it  is  evident  that  it  is  formed 
from  animating  principles ;  the  third  is  deduced  from  those 
glorious  works  which  we  behold  in  the  heavens  and  the 
earth. 

First,  then,  we  must  either  deny  the  existence  of  the 
Gods  (as  Democritus  and  Epicurus  by  their  doctrine  of 
images  in  some  sort  do),  or,  if  w^e  acknowledge  that  there 

'  Here  is  a  mistake,  as  Fulvius  Ursinus  observes ;  for  the  discourse 
seems  to  be  continued  in  one  day,  as  appears  from  the  beginning  of  this 
book.     This  may  be  an  inadvertency  of  Cicero. 

'^  The  senate  of  Athens  was  so  called  from  the  words  'Apeiog  Udyog, 
the  Village,  some  say  the  Hill,  of  Mars. 

^  Epicurus. 


284        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

are  Gods,  we  must  believe  they  are  employed,  and  that, 
too,  ill  something  excellent.  Now,  nothing  is  so  excellent 
as  the  administration  of  the  universe.  The  universe,  there- 
fore, is  governed  by  the  wisdom  of  the  Gods.  Otherwise, 
we  must  imagine  that  there  is  some  cause  suj^erior  to  the 
Deity,  whether  it  be  a  nature  inanimate,  or  a  necessity 
agitated  by  a  mighty  force,  that  produces  those  beautiful 
works  which  we  behold.  The  nature  of  the  Gods  would 
then  be  neither  supreme  nor  excellent,  if  you  subject  it  to 
that  necessity  or  to  that  nature,  by  which  you  would  make 
the  heaven,  the  earth,  and  the  seas  to  be  governed.  But 
there  is  nothing  superior  to  the  Deity;  the  world,  there- 
fore, must  be  governed  by  him  :  consequently,  the  Deity  is 
under  no  obedience  or  subjection  to  nature,  but  does  him- 
self rule  over  all  nature.  In  effect,  if  w^e  allow  the  Gods 
have  understanding,  we  allow  also  their  providence,  which 
regards  the  most  important  things ;  for,  can  they  be  ig- 
norant of  those  important  things,  and  how  they  are  to  be 
conducted  and  preserved,  or  do  they  want  power  to  sus- 
tain and  direct  them?  Ignorance  is  inconsistent  -with  the 
nature  of  the  Gods,  and  imbecility  is  repugnant  to  their 
majesty.  From  whence  it  follows,  as  we  assert,  that  the 
world  is  governed  by  the  providence  of  the  Gods. 

XXXI.  But  supposing,  which  is  incontestable,  that  there 
are  Gods,  they  must  be  animated,  and  not  only  animated, 
but  endowed  with  reason — united,  as  we  may  say,  in  a  civil 
agreement  and  society,  and  governing  together  one  uni- 
verse, as  a  republic  or  city.  Thus  the  same  reason,  the 
same  verity,  the  same  law,  which  ordains  good  and  pro- 
hibits evil,  exists  in  the  Gods  as  it  does  in  men.  From 
them,  consequently,  we  have  prudence  and  understand- 
ing, for  which  reason  our  ancestors  erected  temples  to  the 
Mind,  Faith,  Virtue,  and  Concord.  Shall  we  not  then  al- 
low the  Gods  to  have  these  perfections,  since  we  worship 
the  sacred  and  auGjust  imaojes  of  them?  But  if  under- 
standing,  faith,  virtue,  and  concord  reside  in  human  kind, 
how  could  they  come  on  earth,  unless  from  heaven?  And 
if  we  are  possessed  of  wisdom,  reason,  and  prudence,  the 
Gods  must  have  the  same  qualities  in  a  greater  degree ; 
and  not  only  have  them,  but  employ  tliem  in  the  best  and 
greatest  works.     The  universe  is  the  best  and  greatest 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  285 

work ;  therefore  it  must  be  governed  by  the  wisdom  and 
l^rovidence  of  the  Gods. 

Lastly,  as  we  have  sufficiently  shown  that  those  glorious 
and  luminous  bodies  which  we  behold  are  Deities — I  mean 
the  sun,  the  moon,  the  fixed  and  wandering  stars,  the  fir- 
mament, and  the  world  itself,  and  those  other  things  also 
which  have  any  singular  virtue,  and  are  of  any  great  util- 
ity to  human  kind — it  follows  that  all  things  are  governed 
by  providence  and  a  divine  mind.  But  enough  has  been 
said  on  the  first  part. 

XXXII.  It  is  now  incumbent  on  me  to  prove  that  all 
things  are  subjected  to  nature,  and  most  beautifully  di- 
rected by  her.  But,  first  of  all,  it  is  proper  to  explain 
precisely  what  that  nature  is,  in  order  to  come  to  the 
more  easy  understanding  of  what  I  w^ould  demonstrate. 
Some  think  that  nature  is  a  certain  irrational  power  excit- 
ing in  bodies  the  necessary  motions.  Others,  that  it  is  an 
intelligent  power,  acting  by  order  and  method,  designing 
some  end  in  every  cause,  and  always  aiming  at  that  end, 
whose  works  express  such  skill  as  no  art,  no  hand,  can  imi- 
tate; for,  they  say,  such  is  the  virtue  of  its  seed,  that, 
however  small  it  is,  if  it  falls  into  a  place  proper  for  its 
reception,  and  meets  with  matter  conducive  to  its  nour- 
ishment and  increase,  it  forms  and  produces  everything 
in  its  respective  kind ;  either  vegetables,  which  receive 
their  nourishment  from  their  roots ;  or  animals,  endowed 
with  motion,  sense,  appetite,  and  abilities  to  beget  their 
likeness. 

Some  apply  the  word  nature  to  everything;  as  Epicurus 
does,  Avho  acknowledges  no  cause,  but  atoms,  a  vacuum, 
and  their  accidents.  But  when  we^  say  that  nature  forms 
and  governs  the  world,  we  do  not  apply  it  to  a  clod  of 
earth,  or  piece  of  stone,  or  anything  of  that  sort,  whose 
parts  have  not  the  necessary  cohesion,'*  but  to  a  tree,  in 

'  The  Stoics. 

^  By  nulla  coharendi  natura — if  it  is  the  right,  as  it  is  the  common 
reading — Cicero  must  mean  the  same  as  by  nulla  crescendi  natura,  or 
coalescendi,  either  of  which  Lambinus  proposes  ;  for,  as  the  same  learn- 
ed critic  well  observes,  is  there  not  a  cohesion  of  parts  in  a  clod,  or  in  a 
piece  of  stone  ?  Our  learned  Walker  proposes  sola  cohcerendi  natura^ 
which  mends  the  sense  very  much  ;  and  I  wish  he  had  the  authority  of 
any  copy  for  it. 


286        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

which  there  is  not  the  appearance  of  chance,  but  of  order 
and  a  resembhmce  of  art. 

XXXIII.  But  if  the  art  of  nature  gives  life  and  increase 
to  vegetables,  without  doubt  it  supports  the  earth  itself; 
for,  being  impregnated  with  seeds,  she  produces  every 
kind  of  vegetable,  and  embracing  their  roots,  she  nourishes 
and  increases  them ;  while,  in  her  turn,  she  receives  her 
nourishment  from  the  other  elements,  and  by  her  exhala- 
tions gives  proper  sustenance  to  the  air,  the  sky,  and  all 
the  superior  bodies.  If  nature  gives  vigor  and  support  to 
the  earth,  by  the  same  reason  she  has  an  influence  over 
the  rest  of  the  world  ;  for  as  the  earth  gives  nourishment 
to  vegetables,  so  the  air  is  the  preservation  of  animals. 
The  air  sees  with  us,  hears  with  us,  and  utters  sounds 
Avith  ns;  without  it,  there  Avould  be  no  seeing,  hearing,  or 
sounding.  It  even  moves  with  us;  for  whei'cver  we  go, 
whatever  motion  we  make,  it  seems  to  retire  and  give 
place  to  us. 

That  which  inclines  to  the  centre,  that  Avhich  rises  from 
it  to  the  surface,  and  that  which  rolls  about  the  centre, 
constitute  the  universal  world,  and  make  one  entire  nat- 
ure; and  as  there  are  four  sorts  of  bodies,  the  continuance 
of  nature  is  caused  by  their  reciprocal  changes ;  for  the 
water  arises  from  the  earth,  the  air  from  the  water,  and 
the  fire  from  the  air;  and,  reversing  this  order,  the  air 
arises  from  fire,  the  water  from  the  air,  and  from  the  wa- 
ter the  earth,  the  lowest  of  the  four  elements,  of  which  all 
beings  are  formed.  Thus  by  their  continual  motions  back- 
ward and  forward,  upward  and  downward,  the  conjunc- 
tion of  the  several  parts  of  the  universe  is  preserved;  a 
union  which,  in  the  beauty  we  noAV  behold  it,  must  be 
eternal,  or  at  least  of  a  very  long  duration,  and  almost  for 
an  infinite  space  of  time;  and,  whichever  it  is,  the  uni- 
verse must  of  consequence  be  governed  by  nature.  For 
what  art  of  navigating  fleets,  or  of  marshalling  an  array, 
and — to  instance  the  produce  of  nature — what  vine,  what 
tree,  what  animated  form  and  conformation  of  their  mem- 
bers, give  us  so  great  an  indication  of  skill  as  appears  in 
the  universe?  Therefore  we  must  either  deny  that  there 
is  the  least  trace  of  an  intelligent  nature,  or  acknowledge 
that  the  world  is  governed  by  it.     But  since  the  universe 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  287 

contains  all  particular  beings,  as  well  as  their  seeds,  can 
we  say  that  it  is  not  itself  governed  by  nature?  That 
would  be  the  same  as  saying  that  the  teeth  and  the  beard 
of  man  are  the  work  of  nature,  but  that  the  man  himself 
is  not.  Thus  the  effect  would  be  understood  to  be  great- 
er than  the  cause. 

XXXIV.  Now,  the  universe  sows,  as  I  may  say,  plants, 
produces,  raises,  nourishes,  and  preserves  what  nature  ad- 
ministers, as  members  and  parts  of  itself.  If  nature,  there- 
fore, governs  them,  she  must  also  govern  the  universe. 
And,  lastly,  in  nature's  administration  there  is  nothing 
faulty.  She  produced  the  best  possible  effect  out  of  those 
elements  which  existed.  Let  any  one  show  how  it  could 
have  been  better.  But  tliat  can  never  be ;  and  whoever 
attempts  to  mend  it  will  either  make  it  worse,  or  aim  at 
impossibilities. 

But  if  all  tlie  parts  of  the  universe  are  so  constituted 
that  nothing  could  be  better  for  use  or  beauty,  let  us  con- 
sider whether  this  is  the  effect  of  chance,  or  whetlier,  in 
such  a  state  they  could  possibly  cohere,  but  by  the  direc- 
tion of  wisdom  and  divine  providence.  Nature,  therefore, 
cannot  be  void  of  reason,  if  art  can  bring  nothing  to  per- 
fection without  it,  and  if  the  works  of  nature  exceed  those 
of  art.  How  is  it  consistent  with  common-sense  that  when 
you  view  an  image  or  a  picture,  you  imagine  it  is  wrought 
by  art;  when  you  behold  afar  off  a  ship  \mder  sail,  you 
judge  it  is  steered  by  reason  and  art;  when  you  see  a  dial 
or  water-clock,^  you  believe  the  hours  are  shown  by  art, 
and  not  by  chance ;  and  yet  that  you  should  imagine  that 
the  universe,  which  contains  all  arts  and  the  artificers,  can 
be  void  of  reason  and  understanding? 

But  if  that  sphere  which  was  lately  made  by  our  friend 
Posidonius,  the  regular  revolutions  of  which  show  the 
course  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  five  wandering  stars,  as  it  is 
every  day  and  night  performed,  were  carried  into  Scythia 
or  Britain,  who,  in  those  barbarous  countries,  would  doubt 
that  that  sphere  had  been  made  so  perfect  by  the  exertion 
of  reason  ? 

XXXY.  Yet  these  people^  doubt  whether  the  universe, 

^  Nasica  Scipio,  the  censor,  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  who  made  a 
water-clock  in  Rome.  ^  The  Epicureans. 


288  THE  NATURE   OF  THE  GODS. 

from  whence  all  things  arise  and  are  made,  is  not  the  ef- 
fect of  chance,  or  some  necessity,  rather  than  the  work  of 
reason  and  a  divine  mind.  According  to  them,  Archime- 
des shows  more  knowledge  in  representing  the  motions  of 
the  celestial  globe  than  nature  does  in  causing  them, 
though  the  cojjy  is  so  infinitely  beneath  the  original.  The 
shepherd  in  Attius,^  who  had  never  seen  a  ship,  when  he 
perceived  from  a  mountain  afar  off  the  divine  vessel  of  the 
Argonauts,  surprised  and  frighted  at  this  new  object,  ex- 
pressed himself  in  this  manner : 

What  liovrid  bulk  is  that  before  my  eyes, 
Which  o'er  the  deep  witii  noise  and  vigor  flies  ? 
It  turns  the  wliirlpools  up,  its  force  so  strong, 
And  drives  the  billows  as  it  rolls  along. 
The  ocean's  violence  it  fiercely  braves ; 
Huns  furious  on,  and  throws  about  the  waves. 
Swiftly  impetuous  in  its  course,  and  loud, 
Like  the  dire  bursting  of  a  show'ry  cloud  ; 
Or,  like  a  rock,  forced  by  the  winds  and  rain, 
Now  whirl'd  aloft,  then  plunged  into  the  main. 
But  hold !  perhaps  the  P^arth  and  Neptune  jar, 
And  fiercely  wage  an  elemental  war ; 
Or  Triton  with  his  trident  has  o'erthrown 
His  den,  and  loosen'd  from  the  roots  the  stone ; 
The  rocky  fragment,  from  the  bottom  torn, 
Is  lifted  up,  and  on  the  surface  borne. 

At  first  he  is  in  suspense  at  the  sight  of  this  unknown  ob- 
ject ;  but  on  seeing  the  young  mariners,  and  hearing  their 
singing,  he  says, 

Like  sportive  dolphins,  with  their  snouts  they  roar;'' 

and  afterward  goes  on, 

Loud  in  my  ears  methinks  their  voices  ring. 
As  if  I  heard  the  God  Sylvanus  sing. 

As  at  first  view  the  shepherd  thinks  he  sees  something 
inanimate  and  insensible,  but  afterward,  judging  by  more 

^  An  old  Latin  poet,  commended  by  Quintilian  for  the  gravity  of  his 
sense  and  his  loftiness  of  style. 

^  The  shepherd  is  here  supposed  to  take  the  stem  or  beak  of  the  ship 
for  the  mouth,  from  which  the  roaring  voices  of  the  sailors  came.  Ros- 
trum is  here  a  lucky  word  to  put  in  the  mouth  of  one  who  never  saw  a 
ship  before,  as  it  is  used  for  the  beak  of  a  bird,  lh6  snout  of  a  beast  or 
fish,  and  for  the  stem  of  a  ship. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  289 

trustworthy  indications,  he  begins  to  figure  to  himself 
what  it  is ;  so  philosophers,  if  they  are  surprised  at  first 
at  the  sight  of  the  universe,  ought,  when  they  have  con- 
sidered the  regular,  uniform,  and  immutable  motions  of  it, 
to  conceive  that  there  is  some  Being  that  is  not  only  an 
inhabitant  of  this  celestial  and  divine  mansion,  but  a  ruler 
and  a  governor,  as  architect  of  this  mighty  fabric. 

XXXVI.  Now,  in  my  opinion,  they^  do  not  seem  to  have 
even  the  least  suspicion  that  the  heavens  and  earth  afford 
anything  marvellous.  For,  in  the  first  place,  the  earth  is 
situated  in  the  middle  part  of  the  universe,  and  is  sur- 
rounded on  all  sides  by  the  air,  which  we  breathe,  and 
which  is  called  "  aer,"^  which,  indeed,  is  a  Greek  word  ;  but 
by  constant  use  it  is  well  understood  by  our  countrymen, 
for,  indeed,  it  is  employed  as  a  Latin  word.  The  .dr  is 
encompassed  by  the  boundless  ether  (sky),  which  consists 
of  the  fires  above.  This  word  we  borrow  also,  for  we  use 
CBther  in  Latin  as  well  as  aer;  though  Pacuvius  thus  ex- 
presses it, 

This,  of  which  I  speak, 

In  Latin 's  coelum,  cether  call'd  in  Greek. 

As  though  he  were  not  a  Greek  into  whose  mouth  he  puts 
this  sentence ;  but  he  is  speaking  in  Latin,  though  we  lis- 
ten as  if  he  were  speaking  Greek ;  for,  as  he  says  elsewhere, 

His  speech  discovers  him  a  Grecian  born. 

But  to  return  to  more  important  matters.  In  the  sky 
innumerable  fiery  stars  exist,  of  which  the  sun  is  the  chief, 
enlightening  all  with  his  refulgent  splendor,  and  being  by 
many  degrees  larger  than  the  whole  earth ;  and  this  mul- 
titude of  vast  fires  are  so  far  from  hurting  the  earth,  and 
things  terrestrial,  that  they  are  of  benefit  to  them  ;  whereas, 
if  they  were  moved  from  their  stations,  we  should  inevita- 
bly be  burned  through  the  want  of  a  proper  moderation 
and  temperature  of  heat. 

XXXVIL  Is  it  possible  for  any  man  to  behold  these 
things,  and  yet  imagine  that  certain  solid  and  individual 
bodies  move  by  their  natural  force  and  gravitation,  and 
that  a  world  so  beautifully  adorned  was  made  by  their 
fortuitous  concourse?     He  who  believes  this  may  as  well 

*  The  Epicureans.  ^  Greek,  afjp  ;  Latin,  aer. 

13 


290        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

believe  that  if  a  great  quantity  of  the  one-and-twenty  let- 
ters, composed  either  of  gold  or  any  other  matter,  were 
thrown  upon  the  ground,  they  would  fall  into  such  order 
as  legibly  to  form  the  Annals  of  Ennius.  I  doubt  whether 
fortune  could  make  a  single  verse  of  them.  Plow,  there- 
fore, can  these  people  assert  that  the  world  was  made  by 
the  fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms,  which  have  no  color,  no 
quality — which  the  Greeks  call  ttoiuttjc^  no  sense?  or  that 
there  are  innumerable  worlds,  some  rising  and  some  per- 
ishing, in  every  moment  of  time?  But  if  a  concourse  of 
atoms  can  make  a  world,  why  not  a  porch,  a  temple,  a 
house,  a  city,  Avhich  are  works  of  less  labor  and  difficulty  ? 

Certainly  those  men  talk  so  idly  and  inconsiderately 
concerning  this  lower  world  that  they  appear  to  me  never 
to  have  contemplated  the  wonderful  magnificence  of  the 
heavens;  which  is  the  next  topic  for  our  consideration. 

Well,  then,  did  Aristotle^  observe:  "If  there  were  men 
whose  habitations  had  been  always  underground,  in  great 
and  commodious  houses,  adorned  with  statues  and  pict- 
ures, furnished  with  everything  which  they  who  are  re- 
puted happy  abound  with ;  and  if,  without  stirring  from 
thence,  they  should  be  informed  of  a  certain  divine  power 
and  majesty,  and,  after  some  time,  the  earth  should  open, 
and  they  should  quit  their  dark  abode  to  come  to  us, 
wdiere  they  should  immediately  behold  the  earth,  the  seas, 
the  heavens;  should  consider  the  vast  extent  of  the  clouds 
and  force  of  the  w^inds;  should  see  the  sun,  and  observe 
his  grandeur  and  beauty,  and  also  his  generative  power, 
inasmuch  as  day  is  occasioned  by  the  diffusion  of  his 
light  through  the  sky ;  and  when  night  has  obscured  the 
earth,  they  should  contemplate  the  heavens  besi)angled 
and  adorned  with  stars,  the  surprising  variety  of  the  moon 
in  her  increase  and  wane,  the  rising  and  setting  of  all  the 
stars,  and  the  inviolable  regularity  of  their  courses ;  when," 
says  he,  "  they  should  see  these  things,  they  would  un- 
doubtedly conclude  that  there  are  Gods,  and  that  these 
are  their  mighty  works." 

XXXVIII.  Thus  far  Aristotle.  Let  us  imagine,  also,  as 
great  darkness  as  was  formerly  occasioned  by  the  irruption 
of  the  fires  of  Mount  -^tna,  which  arc  said  to  have  ob- 
'  The  treatise  of  Aristotle,  from  whence  this  is  taken,  is  lost. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  291 

scured  the  adjacent  conntvies  for  two  days  to  such  a  de- 
gree tliat  no  man  could  recognize  his  fellow;  but  on  the 
third,  when  the  sun  appeared,  they  seemed  to  be  risen  from 
the  dead.  Now,  if  we  should  be  suddenly  brought  from 
a  state  of  eternal  darkness  to  see  the  light,  how  beautiful 
would  the  heavens  seem  !  But  our  minds  have  become 
used  to  it  from  the  daily  practice  and  habituation  of  our 
eyes,  nor  do  we  take  the  trouble  to  search  into  the  princi- 
ples of  what  is  always  in  view ;  as  if  the  novelty,  rather 
than  the  importance,  of  things  ought  to  excite  us  to  inves- 
tigate their  causes. 

Is  he  worthy  to  be  called  a  man  who  attributes  to 
chance,  not  to  an  intelligent  cause,  the  constant  motion  of 
the  heavens,  the  regular  courses  of  the  stars,  the  agreeable 
proportion  and  connection  of  all  things,  conducted  with  so 
much  reason  that  our  intellect  itself  is  unable  to  estimate 
it  rightly  ?  When  we  see  machines  move  artificially,  as 
a  sphere,  a  clock,  or  the  like,  do  we  doubt  whether  they 
are  the  productions  of  reason  ?  And  when  we  behold  the 
heavens  moving  with  a  prodigious  celerity,  and  causing 
an  annual  succession  of  the  different  seasons  of  the  year, 
which  vivify  and  preserve  all  things,  can  we  doubt  that 
this  world  is  directed,  I  will  not  say  only  by  reason,  but 
by  reason  most  excellent  and  divine?  For  without  troub- 
ling ourselves  with  too  refined  a  subtlety  of  discussion,  we 
may  nse  our  eyes  to  contemplate  the  beauty  of  those  things 
whicli  we  assert  have  been  arranged  by  divine  providence. 

XXXIX.  First,  let  us  examine  the  earth,  whose  situa- 
tion is  in  the  middle  of  the  universe,^  solid,  round,  and 
conglobular  by  its  natural  tendency;  clothed  with  flowers, 
herbs,  trees,  and  fruits ;  the  whole  in  multitudes  incredible, 
and  with  a  variety  suitable  to  every  taste :  let  us  consider 
the  ever-cool  and  running  springs,  the  clear  waters  of  the 
rivers,  the  verdure  of  their  banks,  the  hollow  depths  of 
caves,  the  cragginess  of  rocks,  the  heights  of  impending 
mountains,  and  the  boundless  extent  of  plains,  the  hidden 
veins  of  gold  and  silver,  and  the  infinite  quarries  of  marble. 

'  To  the  universe  the  Stoics  certainly  annexed  the  idea  of  a  limited 
space,  otherwise  they  could  not  have  talked  of  a  middle ;  for  there  can 
he  no  middle  but  of  a  limited  space:  infinite  space  can  have  no  middle, 
there  being  infinite  extension  from  every  part. 


292        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

What  and  how  various  are  the  kinds  of  animals,  tame 
or  wild?  The  flights  and  notes  of  birds?  How  do  the 
beasts  live  in  the  fields  and  in  the  forests  ?  What  shall  I 
say  of  men,  who,  being  appointed,  as  we  may  say,  to  culti- 
vate the  earth,  do  not  suffer  its  fertility  to  be  choked  with 
weeds,  nor  the  ferocity  of  beasts  to  make  it  desolate ;  wlio, 
by  tlie  houses  and  cities  which  they  build,  adorn  the  fields, 
the  isles,  and  the  shores?  If  we  could  view  these  objects 
with  the  naked  eye,  as  w^e  can  by  the  contemplation  of  the 
mind,  nobody,  at  such  a  sight,  would  doubt  there  was  a 
divine  intelligence. 

But  how  beautiful  is  the  sea !  How  pleasant  to  see  the 
extent  of  it!  What  a  multitude  and  variety  of  islands'! 
How  delightful  are  the  coasts !  What  numbers  and  what 
diversity  of  inhabitants  does  it  contain;  some  within  the 
bosom  of  it,  some  floating  on  the  surface,  and  others  by 
their  shells  cleaving  to  the  rocks !  While  the  sea  itself, 
approaching  to  the  land,  sports  so  closely  to  its  shores 
that  those  two  elements  appear  to  be  but  one. 

Next  above  the  sea  is  the  air,  diversified  by  day  and 
night:  when  rarefied, it  possesses  the  higher  region;  when 
condensed,  it  turns  into  clouds,  and  with  the  waters  which 
it  gathers  enriches  the  earth  by  the  rain.  Its  agitation 
produces  the  winds.  It  causes  heat  and  cold  according  to 
the  different  seasons.  It  sustains  birds  in  their  flight; 
and,  being  inhaled,  nourishes  and  preserves  all  animated 
beings. 

XL.  Add  to  these,  which  alone  remaineth  to  be  men- 
tioned, the  firmament  of  heaven,  a  region  the  farthest  from 
our  abodes,  which  surrounds  and  contains  all  things.  It 
is  likewise  called  ether,  or  sky,  the  extreme  bounds  and 
limits  of  the  universe,  in  which  the  stars  perform  their 
appointed  courses  in  a  most  wonderful  manner ;  among 
which,  the  sun,  whose  magnitude  far  surpasses  the  earth, 
makes  his  revolution  round  it,  and  by  his  rising  and  set- 
ting causes  day  and  night ;  sometimes  coming  near  tow- 
ards the  earth,  and  sometimes  going  from  it,  lie  every 
year  makes  two  contrary  reversions*   from   the   extreme 

'  These  two  contrary  reversions  are  from  tlie  tropics  of  Cancer  and 
Capricorn.  They  are  the  extreme  bountls  of  the  snn's  comse.  'J'he 
reader  must  observe  tliat  the  astronomical  parts  of  this  book  are  intro- 


THE  NATUKE  OF  THE  GODS.  293 

point  of  its  course.  In  his  retreat  the  earth  seems  locked 
up  in  sadness;  in  his  return  it  appears  exhilarated  with 
the  heavens.  The  moon,  which,  as  mathematicians  demon- 
strate, is  bigger  tlian  half  the  earth,  makes  her  revolutions 
through  the  same  spaces^  as  the  sun ;  but  at  one  time  ap- 
proaching, and  at  another  receding  from,  the  sun,  she  dif- 
fuses the  light  which  she  has  borrowed  from  him  over  the 
Avhole  earth,  and  has  herself  also  many  various  changes  in 
her  appearance.  When  she  is  found  under  the  sun,  and  op- 
posite to  it,  the  brightness  of  her  rays  is  lost ;  but  when 
the  earth  directly  interposes  between  the  moon  and  sun,  the 
moon  is  totally  eclipsed.  The  other  wandering  stars  have 
their  courses  round  the  earth  in  the  same  spaces,^  and  rise 
and  set  in  the  same  manner ;  their  motions  are  sometimes 
quick,  sometimes  slow,  and  often  they  stand  still.  There  is 
nothing  more  wonderful,  nothing  more  beautiful.  There  is  a 
vast  number  of  fixed  stars,  distinguished  by  the  names  of  cer- 
tain figures,  to  which  we  find  they  have  some  resemblance. 
XLI.  I  will  here,  says  Balbus,  looking  at  me,  make  use 
of  the  verses  which,  when  you  were  young,  you  translated 
from  Aratus,^  and  which,  because  they  are  in  Latin,  gave 
me  so  much  delight  that  I  have  many  of  them  still  in  my 
memory.  As  then,  wo  daily  see,  without  any  change  or 
variation, 

the  rest* 

Swiftly  pursue  the  course  to  which  they're  bound ; 

And  with  the  heavens  the  days  and  nights  go  round ; 

the  contemplation  of  which,  to  a  mind  desirous  of  observ- 
ing the  constancy  of  nature,  is  inexhaustible. 

The  extreme  top  of  either  point  is  call'd 
The  pole. ^ 

duced  by  the  Stoic  as  proofs  of  design  and  reason  in  the  universe ;  and, 
notwithstanding  the  errors  in  his  planetary  system,  his  intent  is  well  an- 
swered, because  all  he  means  is  that  the  regular  motions  of  the  heaven- 
ly bodies,  and  their  dependencies,  are  demonstrations  of  a  divine  mind. 
The  inference  proposed  to  be  drawn  from  his  astronomical  observations 
is  as  just  as  if  his  system  was  in  every  part  unexceptionably  right :  the 
same  may  be  said  of  his  anatomical  observations. 

^  In  the  zodiac.  '^  Ibid. 

^  These  verses  of  Cicero  are  a  translation  from  a  Greek  poem  of  Ara- 
tus,  called  the  Phenomena. 

*  The  fixed  stars.  ^  The  arctic  and  antarctic  poles. 


294        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

About  this  the  two  "ApKvoL  are  turned,  which  never  set ; 

Of  these,  the  Greeks  one  Cynosura  call, 
The  other  Helice/ 

The  brightest  stars/  indeed,  of  Helice  are  discernible  all 
night, 

Which  are  by  us  Septentriones  call'd. 

Cynosura  moves  about  the  same  i)ole,  with  a  like  number 
of  stars,  and  ranged  in  the  same  order : 

This^  the  Phoenicians  choose  to  make  their  guide 
When  on  the  ocean  in  the  night  they  ride. 
Adorned  with  stars  of  more  refulgent  light, 
The  other*  shines,  and  first  appears  at  night. 
Tiiough  this  is  small,  sailors  its  use  have  found ; 
More  inward  is  its  course,  and  short  its  round. 

XLII.  The  aspect  of  those  stars  is  the  more  admirablej 
because, 

The  Dragon  grim  between  them  bends  his  way, 
As  through  the  winding  banks  the  currents  stray, 
And  up  and  down  in  sinuous  bending  rolls. ^ 

His  whole  foi'm  is  excellent;  but  the  shape  of  his  head 
and  the  ardor  of  his  eyes  are  most  remarkable. 

Various  the  stars  which  deck  his  glittering  head ; 
His  temples  are  with  double  glory  spread ; 
From  his  fierce  eyes  two  fervid  lights  afar 
Flash,  and  his  chin  shines  with  one  radiant  star  ; 
Bow'd  is  his  head  ;  and  his  round  neck  he  bends. 
And  to  the  tail  of  Helice®  extends. 

The  rest  of  the  Dragon's  body  we  see^  at  every  hour  in 
the  night. 

^  Tlie  two  Arctoi  are  northern  constellations.  Cynosura  is  what  we 
call  the  Lesser  Bear ;  Helice,  the  Greater  Bear ;  in  Latin,  Ursa  Minor 
and  Ursa  Major. 

^  These  stars  in  the  Greater  Bear  are  vulgarly  called  the  "Seven 
Stars,"  or  the  "Northern  Wain ;"  by  the  Latins,  "Septentriones." 

^  The  Lesser  Bear.  *  Tiie  Greater  Bear. 

^  Exactly  agreeable  to  this  and  the  following  description  of  the  Drag- 
on is  the  same  northern  constellation  described  in  the  map  by  Flam- 
steed  in  his  Atlas  Coelestis  ;  and  all  the  figures  here  described  by  Ara- 
tns  nearly  agree  with  the  maps  of  the  same  constellations  in  the  Atlas 
Coelestis,  though  they  are  not  all  placed  precisely  alike. 

°  The  tail  of  the  Greater  Bear. 

'  That  is,  in  Macedon,  where  Aratiis  lived. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  295 

Here*  suddenly  the  head  a  little  hides 
Itself,  where  all  its  parts,  which  are  in  sight, 
And  those  unseen  in  the  same  place  unite. 

Near  to  this  head 

Is  placed  the  figure  of  a  man  that  moves 
Weary  and  sad, 

which  the  Greeks 

Engonasis  do  call,  because  he's  borne^ 
About  with  bended  knee.     Near  him  is  placed 
The  crown  with  a  refulgent  lustre  graced. 

This  indeed  is  at  his  back ;  but  Anguitenens  (the  Snake- 
holder)  is  near  his  head  :^ 

The  Greeks  him  Ophiuchus  call,  renown'd 
The  name.     He  strongly  grasps  the  serpent  round 
With  both  his  hands  ;  himself  the  sei-pent  folds 
Beneath  his  breast,  and  round  his  middle  holds  ; 
Yet  gravely  he,  bright  shining  in  the  skies, 
Moves  on,  and  treads  on  Nepa's*  breast  and  eyes. 

The  Septentriones^  are  followed  by — 

Arctophylax,®  that's  said  to  be  the  same 
Which  we  Bootes  call,  who  has  the  name. 
Because  he  drives  the  Greater  Bear  along 
Yoked  to  a  wain. 

Besides,  in  Bootes, 

A  star  of  glittering  rays  about  his  waist, 

A  returns  called,  a  name  renown'd,  is  placed.''' 

'  The  true  interpretation  of  this  passage  is  as  follows  :  Here  in  IMac- 
edon,  says  Aratus,  the  head  of  the  Dragon  does  not  entirely  immerge 
itself  in  the  ocean,  but  only  touches  the  superficies  of  it.  By  ortus  and 
obitus  I  doubt  not  but  Cicero  meant,  agreeable  to  Aratus,  those  parts 
which  arise  to  view,  and  those  which  are  removed  from  sight. 

'  These  are  two  northern  constellations.  Engonasis,  in  some  cata- 
logues called  Hercules,  because  he  is  figured  kneeling  h  ydvaaiv  (on  his 
knees).     'EvyovaGcv  KaAtova',  as  Aratus  says,  they  call  Engonasis. 

^  The  crown  is  placed  under  the  feet  of  Hercules  in  the  Atlas  Coeles- 
tis;  but  Ophiuchus  ('O^^ovjof),  the  Snake-holder,  is  placed  in  the  jnap 
by  Flamsteed  as  described  here  by  Aratus ;  and  their  heads  almost  meet. 

*  The  Scorpion.  Ophiuchus,  though  a  northern  constellation,  is  not 
far  from  that  part  of  the  zodiac  where  the  Scorpion  is,  which  is  one  of 
tlie  six  southern  signs.  *  The  Wain  of  seven  stars. 

•^  The  Wain -driver.  This  northern  constellation  is,  in  our  present 
maps,  figured  with  a  club  in  his  right  hand  behind  the  Greater  Bear. 

''  In  some  modern  maps  Arcturus,  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude,  is  placed 
in  the  belt  that  is  round  the  waist  of  Bootes.  Cicero  says  subter prcecordia, 
which  is  about  the  waist;  and  Aratus  says  vn-d  Co),vy,  nnder  the  belt. 


296  THE  NATUllE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Beneath  which  is 

The  Virgin  of  illustrious  form,  whose  hand 
Holds  a  bright  spike. 

XLIII.  And  truly  these  signs  are  so  regularly  disposed 
that  a  divine  wisdom  evidently  appears  in  them : 

Beneath  the  Bear's'  head  have  the  Twins  thoir  seat, 
Under  his  chest  the  Crab,  beneath  his  feet 
The  mighty  Lion  darts  a  trembling  flame.'* 

The  Charioteer 

On  the  left  side  of  Gemini  we  see,^ 

And  at  his  head  behold  fierce  Helice ; 

On  his  left  shoulder  the  bright  Goat  appears. 

But  to  proceed — 

This  is  indeed  a  great  and  glorious  star, 
On  th'  other  side  the  Kids,  inferior  far. 
Yield  but  a  slender  light  to  mortal  eyes. 

Under  his  feet 

The  horned  bull,*  with  sturdy  limbs,  is  placed: 

his  head  is  spangled  with  a  number  of  stars; 
These  by  the  Greeks  are  called  the  Hyades, 

from  raining;  for  vety  is  to  rain:  therefore  they  are  in- 
judiciously  called  Suculoe  by  our  people,  as  if  they  had 
their  name  from  vq,  a  sow,  and  not  from  vw. 

Behind  the  Lesser  Bear,  Cepheus^  follows  with  extended 
hands. 

For  close  behind  the  Lesser  Bear  he  comes. 

1  Sub  caput  Arcti,  under  the  head  of  the  Greater  Bear. 

^  The  Crab  is,  by  the  ancients  and  moderns,  placed  in  the  zodiac,  as 
here,  between  the  Twins  and  the  Lion ;  and  they  are  all  three  northern 
signs. 

^  The  Twins  are  placed  in  tlie  zodiac  with  the  side  of  one  to  the 
northern  hemisphere,  and  the  side  of  the  other  to  tlie  southern  hemi- 
sphere, Auriga,  tlie  Charioteer,  is  placed  in  the  northern  hemisphere 
near  the  zodiac,  by  the  Twins  ;  and  at  the  head  of  the  Charioteer  is  Hel- 
ice, the  Greater  Bear,  placed ;  and  the  Goat  is  a  bright  star  of  the  first 
magnitude  placed  on  the  left  shoulder  of  this  northern  constellation,  and 
called  Capra,  the  Goat.  Ilcedi,  the  Kids,  are  two  more  stars  of  the  same 
constellation, 

*  A  constellation  ;  one  of  the  northern  signs  in  the  zodiac,  in  which 
ihe  Hyades  are  placed. 

^  One  of  the  feet  of  Cepheus,  a  northern  constellation,  is  under  the  tail 
of  the  Lesser  Bear. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  297 

Before  him  goes 

Cassiopea'  with  a  faintish  light; 

But  near  her  moves  (fair  and  illustrious  sight!) 

Andromeda,'^  who,  with  an  eager  pace, 

Seems  to  avoid  her  parent's  mournful  face.^ 

With  glittering  mane  the  Horse*  now  seems  to  tread, 

So  near  he  comes,  on  her  refulgent  head ; 

With  a  fair  star,  that  close  to  him  appears, 

A  double  form^  and  but  one  light  he  wears ; 

By  which  he  seems  ambitious  in  the  sky 

An  everlasting  knot  of  stars  to  tie. 

Near  him  the  Ham,  with  wreathed  horns,  is  placed; 

by  whom 

The  Fishes"  are ;  of  which  one  seems  to  haste 
Somew4iat  before  the  other,  to  the  blast 
Of  the  north  wind  exposed. 

XLIY.  Perseus  is  described  as  placed  at  the  feet  of  An- 
dromeda : 

And  him  the  sharp  blasts  of  the  north  wind  beat. 
Near  his  left  knee,  but  dim  their  light,  their  seat 
The  small  Pleiades''  maintain.     We  find. 
Not  far  from  them,  the  Lyre**  but  slightly  join'd. 
Next  is  the  winged  Bird,"  that  seems  to  fly 
Beneath  the  spacious  covering  of  the  sky. 

'  Grotius,  and  after  him  Dr.  Davis,  and  other  learned  men,  read  Cas- 
siepea,  after  the  Greek  ^aaaieTceia,  and  reject  the  common  reading,  Cas- 
siopea. 

^  Tliese  northern  constellations  here  mentioned  have  been  always 
placed  together  as  one  family  with  Cepheus  and  Perseus,  as  they  are  in 
our  modern  mnps. 

^  This  alludes  to  the  fable  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda. 

*  Pegasus,  who  is  one  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda's  family. 

^  That  is,  M'ith  wings. 

"  Aries,  the  Kam,  is  the  first  northern  sign  in  the  zodiac ;  Pisces,  the 
Fislies,  tlie  last  southern  sign  ;  therefore  they  must  be  near  one  another, 
as  they  are  in  a  circle  or  belt.  In  Flamsteed's  Atlas  Coelestis  one  of  the 
Fishes  is  near  the  head  of  the  Ram,  and  the  other  near  the  Urn  of  Aqua- 
rius. 

'  These  are  called  Virgiliae  by  Cicero;  by  Aratus,  the  Pleiades, 
R?,rj'ld6Ec ;  and  they  are  placed  at  the  neck  of  the  Bull ;  and  one  of 
Perseus's  feet  touches  the  Bull  in  the  Atlas  Coelestis. 

**  This  northern  constellation  is  called  Fides  by  Cicero;  but  it  must  be 
the  same  with  Lyra ;  because  Lyra  is  placed  in  our  maps  as  Fides  is  here. 

"  This  is  called  Ales  Avis  by  Cicero  ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  the  northern 
constellation  Cygnus  is  here  to  be  understood,  for  the  description  and 
place  of  the  Swan  in  the  Atlas  Coelestis  are  the  same  which  Ales  Avis 
has  here. 


298        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

IsTear  the  head  of  the  Horse^  lies  the  right  hand  of  Aqua^ 
rius,  then  all  Aquarius  himself.^ 

Then  Capricorn,  with  half  the  form  of  beast, 

Breathes  chill  and  piercing  colds  from  his  strong  breast, 

And  in  a  spacious  circle  takes  his  round ; 

When  him,  while  in  the  Avinter  solstice  bound. 

The  sun  has  visited  with  constant  light, 

He  turns  his  course,  and  shorter  makes  the  night. ^ 

Kot  far  from  hence  is  seen 

The  Scorpion*  rising  lofty  from  below  ; 
By  him  the  Archer,^  with  his  bended  bow; 
Near  him  the  Bird,  with  gaudy  feathers  spread  ; 
And  the  fierce  Eagle"  hovers  o'er  his  head. 

Next  comes  the  Dolphin ;' 

Then  bright  Orion, **  who  obliquely  moves; 
he  is  followed  by 

The  fervent  Dog,^  bright  with  refulgent  stars: 
next  the  Hare  follows'" 

Unwearied  in  his  course.     At  the  Dog's  tail 
Argo"  moves  on,  and  moving  seems  to  sail; 
O'er  her  the  Ram  and  Fishes  have  their  place ;" 
The  illustrious  vessel  touches,  in  her  pace, 
The  river's  banks  ;^^ 

which  you  may  see  winding  and  extending  itself  to  a  great 
length. 

^  Pegasus. 

^  The  Water-bearer,  one  of  the  six  southern  signs  in  the  zodiac  :  he  is 
described  in  our  maps  pouring  water  out  of  an  nrn,  and  leaniug  with  one 
hand  on  the  tail  of  Capricorn,  another  southern  sign. 

^  When  the  sun  is  in  Capricorn,  the  days  are  at  the  shortest ;  and 
when  in  Cancer,  at  the  longest. 

*  One  of  the  six  southern  signs. 

*  Sagittarius,  another  southern  sign.         ^  A  northern  constellation. 
''  A  northern  constellation.  ^  A  southern  constellation. 

^  This  is  Canis  Major,  a  southern  constellation.  Orion  and  the  Dog 
are  named  together  by  Hesiod,  who  flourished  many  hundred  years  be- 
fore Cicero  or  Aratus. 

^°  A  southern  constellation,  placed  as  here  in  the  Atlas  Coelestis. 

"  A  southern  constellation,  so  called  from  the  ship  Argo,  in  which  Ja- 
son and  the  rest  of  the  Argonauts  sailed  on  their  expedition  to  Colchos. 

"  The  Ram  is  the  first  of  the  northern  signs  in  the  zodiac ;  and  the 
last  southern  sign  is  the  Fishes ;  which  two  signs,  meeting  in  the  zodiac, 
cover  the  constellation  called  Argo. 

"  The  river  Eridanus,  a  southern  constellation. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  299 

The  Fetters^  at  the  Fishes'  tails  are  hung. 
By  NepaV  liead  behold  the  Altar  stand,* 
Which  by  the  breath  of  southern  winds  is  fann'd ; 

near  which  the  Centaiu-* 

Hastens  his  mingled  parts  to  join  beneath 
The  Serpent/  there  extending  his  right  hand, 
To  where  you  see  the  monstrous  Scorpion  stand. 
Which  he  at  the  bright  Altar  fiercely  slays. 
Here  on  her  lower  parts  see  Hydra^  raise 
Herself; 

whose  bulk  is  very  far  extcndecl. 

Amid  the  winding  of  her  body  's  placed 
The  shining  Goblet  ;^  and  the  glossy  Crow* 
Plunges  his  beak  into  her  parts  below. 
Antecanis  beneath  the  Twins  is  seen, 
Call'd  Frocyon  by  the  Greeks.^ 

Can  any  one  in  his  senses  imagine  that  this  disposition 
of  the  stars,  and  this  heaven  so  beautifully  adorned,  co^ild 
ever  have  been  formed  by  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  atoms  ? 
Or  what  other  nature,  being  destitute  of  intellect  and  rea- 
son, could  possibly  have  produced  these  effects,  which  not 
only  required  reason  to  bring  them  about,  but  the  very 
character  of  which  could  not  be  understood  and  appreci- 
ated without  the  most  strenuous  exertions  of  well-directed 
reason  ? 

XLY.  But  our  admiration  is  not  hmited  to  the  objects 
here  described.  What  is  most  wonderful  is  that  the  world 
is  so  durable,  and  so  perfectly  made  for  lasting  that  it  is 
not  to  be  impaired  by  time ;  for  all  its  parts  tend  equally 
to  the  centre,  and  are  bound  together  by  a  sort  of  chain, 
which  surrounds  the  elements.    This  chain  is  nature,  which 

^  A  southern  constellation. 

^  This  is  called  the  Scorpion  in  the  original  of  Aratus. 

*  A  southern  constellation.  *  A  southern  constellation. 

*  The  Serpent  is  not  mentioned  in  Cicero's  translation ;  but  it  is  in  the 
original  of  Aratus. 

"  A  southern  constellation. 

^  The  Goblet,  or  Cup,  a  southern  constellation. 

®  A  southern  constellation. 

®  Antecanis,  a  southern  constellation,  is  the  Little  Dog,  and  called 
Antecanis  in  Latin,  and  UpoKvuv  in  Greek,  because  he  rises  before  the 
other  Dog. 


300        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

being  diffused  through  the  universe,  and  performing  all 
things  with  judgment  and  reason,  attracts  the  extremities 
to  the  centre. 

If,  then,  the  world  is  round,  and  if  on  that  account  all 
its  parts,  being  of  equal  dimensions  and  relative  propor- 
tions, mutually  support  and  are  supported  by  one  another, 
it  must  follow  that  as  all  the  parts  incline  to  the  centre 
(for  that  is  the  lowest  place  of  a  globe)  there  is  nothing 
whatever  whicli  can  put  a  stop  to  that  propensity  in  the 
case  of  such  great  weights.  For  the  same  reason,  though 
the  sea  is  higher  than  the  earth,  yet  because  it  has  the  like 
tendency,  it  is  collected  everywhere,  equally  concentres,  and 
never  overflows,  and  is  never  wasted. 

The  air,  which  is  contiguous,  ascends  by  its  lightness, 
but  diffuses  itself  through  the  whole;  therefore  it  is  by 
nature  joined  and  united  to  the  sea,  and  at  the  same  time 
borne  by  the  same  power  towards  the  heaven,  by  the  thin- 
nqes  and  heat  of  which  it  is  so  tempered  as  to  be  made 
proper  to  supply  life  and  wholesome  air  for  tlie  support 
of  animated  beings.  This  is  encompassed  by  the  highest 
region  of  the  heavens,  w^hich  is  called  the  sky,  which  is 
joined  to  the  extremity  of  the  air,  but  retains  its  own  heat 
pure  and  unmixed. 

XL VI.  The  stars  have  their  revolutions  in  the  sky,  and 
are  continued  by  the  tendency  of  all  parts  towards  the  cen- 
tre. Their  duration  is  perpetuated  by  their  form  and  fig- 
ure, for  they  are  round ;  which  form,  as  I  think  has  been 
before  observed,  is  the  least  liable  to  injury;  and  as  they 
are  composed  of  fire,  they  are  fed  by  the  vapors  which  are 
exhaled  by  the  sun  from  the  earth,  the  sea,  and  other  wa- 
ters ;  but  when  these  vapors  have  nourished  and  refreshed 
the  stars,  and  the  whole  sk}',  they  are  sent  back  to  be  ex- 
haled again ;  so  that  very  little  is  lost  or  consumed  by  the 
fire  of  the  stars  and  the  flame  of  the  sky.  Hence  we  Sto- 
ics conclude — which  Panaitius^  is  said  to  have  doubted  of 
— that  the  whole  world  at  last  would  be  consumed  by  a 
general  conflagration,  when,  all  moisture  being  exhausted, 
neither  the  earth  could  have  any  nourishment,  nor  the  air 
return  again,  since  water,  of  which  it  is  formed,  would  then 
be  all  consumed;  so  that  only  fire  would  subsist;  and 
^  Pnnoetius,  a  Stoic  philosopher. 


THE  NATUBE  OF  THE  GODS.  301 

from  this  fire,  Avhicli  is  an  animating  power  and  a  Deity,  a 
new  world  would  arise  and  be  re-established  in  the  same 
beauty. 

I  should  be  sorry  to  apjDear  to  you  to  dwell  too  long 
upon  this  subject  of  the  stars,  and  more  especially  upon 
that  of  the  planets,  whose  motions,  though  different,  make 
a  very  just  agreement.  Saturn,  the  highest,  chills ;  Mars, 
placed  in  the  middle,  burns ;  while  Jupiter,  interposing, 
moderates  their  excess,  both  of  light  and  heat.  The  two 
planets  beneath  Mars^  obey  the  sun.  The  sun  himself  fills 
the  whole  universe  with  his  own  genial  light;  and  the 
moon,  illuminated  by  him,  influences  conception,  birth,  and 
maturity.  And  who  is  there  Avho  is  not  moved  by  this 
union  of  things,  and  by  this  concurrence  of  nature  agree- 
ing together,  as  it  were,  for  the  safety  of  the  world  ?  And 
yet  I  feel  sure  that  none  of  these  reflections  have  ever  been 
made  by  these  men. 

XLVII.  Let  us  proceed  from  celestial  to  terrestrial 
things.  What  is  there  in  them  which  does  not  prove  the 
principle  of  an  intelligent  nature  ?  First,  as  to  vegetables ; 
they  have  roots  to  sustain  their  stems,  and  to  draw  from 
the  earth  a  nourishing  moisture  to  support  the  vital  prin- 
ciple which  those  roots  contain.  They  are  clothed  with  a 
rind  or  bark,  to  secure  them  more  thoroughly  from  heat 
and  cold.  Tlie  vines  we  see  take  hold  on  props  with  their 
tendrils,  as  if  with  hands,  and  raise  themselves  as  if  they 
Avere  animated ;  it  is  even  said  that  they  shun  cabbages 
and  coleworts,  as  noxious  and  pestilential  to  them,  and,  if 
planted  by  them,  Avill  not  touch  any  part. 

But  what  a  vast  variety  is  there  of  animals !  and  how 
wonderfully  is  every  kind  adapted  to  preserve  itself  !  Some 
are  covered  with  hides,  some  clothed  with  fleeces,  and 
some  guarded  with  bristles ;  some  are  sheltered  with  feath- 
ers, some  with  scales ;  some  are  armed  with  horns,  and 
some  are  furnished  with  wings  to  escape  from  danger. 
Nature  hath  also  liberally  and  plentifully  provided  for  all 
animals  their  proper  food.  I  could  expatiate  on  the  ju- 
dicious and  curious  formation  and  disposition  of  their 
bodies  for  the  reception  and  digestion  of  it,  for  all  their 
interior  parts  are  so  framed  and  disposed  that  there  is 
^  Meiciiry  and  Venus. 


302        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

nothing  superfluous,  nothing  that  is  not  necessary  for  the 
preservation  of  life.  Besides,  nature  has  also  given  these 
beasts  appetite  and  sense;  in  order  that  by  the  one  they 
may  be  excited  to  procure  sufficient  sustenance,  and  by  tlie 
other  they  may  distinguish  what  is  noxious  from  what  is 
salutary.  Some  animals  seek  their  food  walking,  some 
creeping,  some  flying,  and  some  swimming;  some  take  it 
with  their  mouth  and  teeth  ;  some  seize  it  with  their  claws, 
and  some  with  their  beaks;  some  suck,  some  graze,  some 
bolt  it  whole,  and  some  chew  it.  Some  are  so  low  that 
they  can  with  ease  take  such  food  as  is  to  be  found  on  the 
ground  ;  but  the  taller,  as  geese,  swans,  cranes,  and  camels, 
are  assisted  by  a  length  of  neck.  To  the  elephant  is  given 
a  hand,^  without  which,  from  his  unwieldiness  of  body,  he 
would  scarce  have  any  means  of  attaining  food. 

XL VIII.  But  to  those  beasts  which  live  by  preying  on 
otliers,  nature  has  given  either  strength  or  swiftness.  On 
some  animals  she  has  even  bestowed  artifice  and  cunning; 
as  on  spiders,  some  of  which  weave  a  sort  of  net  to  entrap 
and  destroy  whatever  falls  into  it,  others  sit  on  the  watch 
unobserved  to  fall  on  their  prey  and  devour  it.  The  naker 
■ — by  the  Greeks  called  Pinna — has  a  kind  of  confedera- 
cy with  the  prawn  for  procuring  food.  It  has  two  large 
shells  open,  into  which  Avhen  the  little  fishes  swim,  the 
naker,  having  notice  given  by  the  bite  of  the  prawn,  closes 
them  immediately.  Thus,  these  little  animals,  though  of 
different  kinds,  seek  their  food  in  common ;  in  which  it 
is  matter  of  wonder  whether  they  associate  by  any  agree- 
ment, or  are  naturally  joined  together  from  their  begin- 
ning. 

There  is  some  cause  to  admire  also  the  provision  of  nat- 
ure in  the  case  of  those  aquatic  animals  which  are  gener- 
ated on  land,  such  as  crocodiles,  river-tortoises,  and  a  cer- 
tain kind  of  serpents,  which  seek  the  water  as  soon  as  they 
are  able  to  drag  themselves  along.  We  frequently  put 
duck-eggs  under  hens,  by  which,  as  by  their  true  mothers, 
the  ducklings  are  at  first  hatched  and  nourished  ;  but  when 
they  see  the  water,  they  forsake  them  and  run  to  it,  as  to 

'  The  proboscis  of  the  elephant  is  frequently  called  a  hand,  because  it 
is  as  useful  to  him  as  one.  "Tliey  breathe,  drink,  and  smell,  with  what 
may  not  be  improperly  called  a  hand,"  says  Tliny,  bk.  viii.  c.  10. — Davis. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  303 

their  natural  abode:  so  strong  is  the  impression  of  nature 
in  animals  for  their  own  preservation. 

XLIX.  I  have  read  that  there  is  a  bird  called  Platalea 
(the  shoveller),  that  lives  by  watching  those  fowls  which 
dive  into  the  sea  for  their  prey,  and  when  they  return  with 
it,  he  squeezes  their  heads  with  his  beak  till  they  drop  it, 
and  then  seizes  on  it  himself.  It  is  said  likewise  that  he  is 
in  the  habit  of  filling  his  stomach  with  shell-fish,  and  when 
they  are  digested  by  the  heat  which  exists  in  the  stomach, 
they  cast  them  up,  and  then  pick  out  what  is  proper  nour- 
ishment. The  sea-frogs,  they  say,  are  wont  to  cover  them- 
selves with  sand,  and  moving  near  the  water,  the  fishes 
strike  at  them,  as  at  a  bait,  and  are  themselves  taken  and 
devoured  by  the  frogs.  Between  the  kite  and  the  crow 
there  is  a  kind  of  natural  war,  and  wherever  the  one  finds 
the  eggs  of  the  other,  he  breaks  them. 

But  who  is  there  who  can  avoid  being  struck  with  won- 
der at  that  which  has  been  noticed  by  Aristotle,  who  has 
enriched  us  with  so  many  valuable  remarks?  When  the 
cranes^  pass  the  sea  in  search  of  warmer  climes,  they  fly 
in  the  form  of  a  triangle.  By  the  first  angle  they  repel 
the  resisting  air ;  on  each  side,  their  wings  serve  as  oars 
to  facilitate  their  flight;  and  the  basis  of  their  triangle  is 
assisted  by  the  wind  in  their  stern.  Those  which  are  be- 
hind rest  their  necks  and  heads  on  those  which  precede; 
and  as  the  leader  has  not  the  same  relief,  because  he  has 
none  to  lean  upon,  he  at  length  flies  behind  that  he  may 
also  rest,  while  one  of  those  which  have  been  eased  suc- 
ceeds him,  and  through  the  whole  flight  each  regularly 
takes  his  turn. 

I  could  produce  many  instances  of  this  kind;  but  these 
may  sufiice.  Let  us  now  proceed  to  things  more  famil- 
iar to  us.  The  care  of  beasts  for  their  own  preservation, 
their  circumspection  while  feeding,  and  their  manner  of 
taking  rest  in  their  lairs,  are  generally  known,  but  still 
they  are  greatly  to  be  admired. 

L.  Dogs  cure  tliemselves  by  a  vomit,  the  Egyptian  ibis 
by  a  purge;  from  whence  physicians  have  lately — I  mean 
but  few  ages  since — greatly  improved  their  art.     It  is  re- 

^  The  passage  of  Aristotle's  works  to  wliich  Cicero  here  alludes  is 
entirely  lost ;  but  Plutarch  gives  a  similar  account. 


304        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

ported  that  pantliers,  which  in  barbarous  countries  are 
taken  with  poisoned  flesh,  have  a  certain  remedy^  that 
preserves  them  from  dying ;  and  that  in  Crete,  the  wild 
goats,  wlien  they  are  wounded  with  poisoned  arrows,  seek 
for  an  herb  called  dittany,  which,  when  they  have  tasted, 
the  arrows  (they  say)  drop  from  their  bodies.  It  is  said 
also  that  deer,  before  they  fawn,  purge  themselves  with  a 
little  herb  called  harts wort.'^  Beasts,  when  they  receive 
any  hurt,  or  fear  it,  have  recourse  to  their  natural  arms : 
the  bull  to  his  horns,  the  boar  to  his  tusks,  and  the  lion  to 
his  teeth.  Some  take  to  flight,  others  hide  themselves; 
the  cuttle-fish  vomits^  blood;  the  cramp-fish  benmnbs; 
and  there  are  many  animals  that,  by  their  intolerable 
stink,  oblige  their  pursuers  to  retire. 

LI.  But  that  the  beauty  of  the  world  might  be  eternal, 
great  care  has  been  taken  by  the  providence  of  the  Gods 
to  perpetuate  the  different  kinds  of  animals,  and  vegeta- 
bles, and  trees,  and  all  those  things  which  sink  deep  into 
the  earth,  and  are  contained  in  it  by  their  roots  and 
trunks;  in  order  to  which  every  individual  has  within  it- 
self such  fertile  seed  that  many  are  generated  from  one ; 
and  in  vegetables  this  seed  is  enclosed  in  the  heart  of  their 
fruit,  but  in  such  abundance  that  men  may  plentifully  feed 
on  it,  and  the  earth  be  always  replanted. 

With  regard  to  animals,  do  we  not  see  how  aptly  they 
are  formed  for  the  propagation  of  their  species  ?  Nature 
for  this  end  created  some  males  and  some  females.  Their 
parts  are  perfectly  framed  for  generation,  and  they  have 
a  wonderful  propensity  to  copulation.  When  the  seed 
has  fallen  on  the  matrix,  it  draws  almost  all  the  nour- 
ishment to  itself,  by  which  the  foetus  is  formed ;  but  as 
soon  as  it  is  discharged  from  thence,  if  it  is  an  animal  that 
is  nourished  by  milk,  almost  all  the  food  of  the  mother 
turns  into  milk,  and  the  animal,  without  any  direction  but 
by  the  pure  instinct  of  nature,  immediately  hunts  for  the 

'  Balbus  does  not  tell  us  the  remedy  which  the  panther  makes  use 
of;  but  Pliny  is  not  quite  so  delicate :  he  says,  excrernentis  hominis  sibi 
medetur. 

^  Aristotle  says  they  purge  themselves  with  this  herb  after  they  fawn. 
Pliny  says  both  before  and  after. 

^  The  cuttle-fish  has  a  bag  at  its  neck,  the  black  blood  of  which  the 
llomans  used  for  ink.     It  was  called  atramentuni. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  305 

teat,  and  is  there,  fed  with  plenty.  What  makes  it  evi- 
dently appear  that  there  is  nothing  in  tliis  fortuitous,  but 
tlie  work  of  a  wise  and  foreseeing  nature,  is,  that  those 
females  which  bring  forth  many  young,  as  sows  and 
bitches,  have  many  teats,  and  those  which  bear  a  small 
number  have  but  few.  What  tenderness  do  beasts  show 
in  preserving  and  raising  up  their  young  till  they  are 
able  to  defend  themselves !  They  say,  indeed,  that  fish, 
when  they  have  spawned,  leave  their  eggs;  but  the  wa- 
ter easily  supports  them,  and  produces  the  young  fry  in 
abundance. 

LIT.  It  is  said,  likewise,  that  tortoises  and  crocodiles, 
Avhen  they  have  laid  their  eggs  on  the  land,  only  cover 
them  with  earth,  and  then  leave  them,  so  that  their  young 
are  hatched  and  brought  up  without  assistance ;  but  fowls 
and  other  birds  seek  for  quiet  places  to  lay  in,  where  they 
build  their  nests  in  the  softest  manner,  for  the  surest  pres- 
ervation of  their  eggs;  which,  when  they  have  hatched, 
they  defend  from  the  cold  by  the  warmth  of  their  wings, 
or  screen  them  from  the  sultry  heat  of  the  sun.  When 
their  young  begin  to  be  able  to  use  their  wings,  they  at- 
tend and  instruct  them ;  and  then  their  cares  are  at  an 
end. 

Human  art  and  industry  are  indeed  necessary  towards 
the  preservation  and  improvement  of  certain  animals  and 
vegetables ;  for  there  are  several  of  both  kinds  which 
would  perish  witliout  that  assistance.  There  are  likewise 
innumerable  facilities  (being  different  in  different  places) 
supplied  to  man  to  aid  him  in  his  civilization,  and  in  pro- 
curing abundantly  what  he  requires.  The  Nile  waters 
Egypt,  and  after  having  overflowed  and  covered  it  the 
whole  summer,  it  retires,  and  leaves  the  fields  softened 
and  manured  for  the  reception  of  seed.  The  Euphrates 
fertilizes  Mesopotamia,  into  which,  as  we  may  say,  it  car- 
ries yearly  new  fields.^  The  Indus,  which  is  the  largest  of 
all  rivers,"''  not  only  improves  and  cultivates  the  ground, 

*  The  Euphrates  is  said  to  carry  into  Mesopotamia  a  large  quantity 
of  citrons,  with  which  it  corers  the  fields. 

"  Q.  Curtius,  and  some  other  authors,  say  the  Ganges  is  the  largest 
river  in  India ;  but  Amniianus  Marcellinus  concurs  with  Cicero  in  call' 
ing  the  river  Indus  the  largest  of  all  rivers. 


306        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

but  sows  it  also;  for  it  is  said  to  cany  with  it  a  great 
quantity  of  grain.  I  could  mention  many  other  countries 
remarkable  for  something  singular,  and  many  fields,  which 
are,  in  their  own  natures,  exceedingly  fertile. 

LIII.  But  how  bountiful  is  nature  that  has  provided  for 
us  such  an  abundance  of  various  and  delicious  food ;  and 
this  varying  with  the  different  seasons,  so  that  we  may  be 
constantly  pleased  with  change,  and  satisfied  with  abun- 
dance !  How  seasonable  and  useful  to  man,  to  beasts,  and 
even  to  vegetables,  are  the  Etesian  winds^  she  has  bestow- 
ed, which  moderate  intemperate  heat,  and  render  naviga- 
tion more  sure  and  speedy  !  Many  things  must  be  omitted 
on  a  subject  so  copious  —  and  still  a  great  deal  must  be 
said — for  it  is  impossible  to  relate  the  great  utility  of  riv- 
ers, the  flux  and  reflux  of  the  sea,  the  mountains  clothed 
with  grass  and  trees,  the  salt-pits  remote  from  the  sea- 
coasts,  the  earth  replete  with  salutary  medicines,  or,  in 
short,  the  innumerable  designs  of  nature  necessary  for 
sustenance  and  the  enjoyment  of  life.  We  must  not  for- 
get the  vicissitudes  of  day  and  night,  ordained  for  the 
health  of  animated  beings,  giving  them  a  time  to  labor 
and  a  time  to  rest.  Thus,  if  we  every  way  examine  the 
universe,  it  is  apparent,  from  the  greatest  reason,  that  the 
whole  is  admirably  governed  by  a  divine  providence  for 
the  safety  and  preservation  of  all  beings. 

If  it  should  be  asked  for  whose  sake  this  mighty  fabric 
was  raised,  shall  we  say  for  trees  and  other  vegetables, 
which,  though  destitute  of  sense,  are  supported  by  nature? 
That  would  be  absurd.  Is  it  for  beasts?  Nothing  can 
be  less  probable  than  that  the  Gods  should  have  taken 
such  pains  for  beings  void  of  speech  and  understanding. 
For  whom,  then,  will  any  one  presume  to  say  that  the 
world  was  made?  Undoubtedly  for  reasonable  beings; 
these  are  the  Gods  and  men,  who  are  certainly  the  most 
perfect  of  all  beings,  as  nothing  is  equal  to  reason.  It  is 
therefore  credible  that  the  universe,  and  all  things  in  it, 
were  made  for  the  Gods  and  for  men. 

But  we  may  yet  more  easily  comprehend  that  the  Gods 
have  taken  great  care  of  the  interests  and  welfare  of  men, 

*  These  Etesian  winds  return  periodically  once  a  year,  and  blow  at 
certain  seasons,  and  for  a  certain  time. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  307 

it  we  examine  thoroughly  into  the  structure  of  the  body, 
and  the  form  and  perfection  of  human  nature.  There  are 
three  things  absohitely  necessary  for  the  support  of  life — 
to  eat,  to  drink,  and  to  breathe.  For  these  operations  the 
mouth  is  most  aptly  framed,  which,  by  tlie  assistance  of 
the  nostrils,  draws  in  the  more  air. 

LIV.  The  teeth  are  tliere  placed  to  divide  and  grind  the 
food.*  The  fore -teeth,  being  sharp  and  opposite  to  each 
other,  cut  it  asunder,  and  the  hind-teeth  (called  the  grind- 
ers) chew  it,  in  which  office  the  tongue  seems  to  assist. 
At  the  root  of  the  tongue  is  the  gullet,  which  receives 
whatever  is  swallowed :  it  touches  the  tonsils  on  each 
side,  and  terminates  at  the  interior  extremity  of  the  palate. 
When,  by  the  motions  of  the  tongue,  the  food  is  forced 
into  this  passage,  it  descends,  and  those  parts  of  the  gullet 
which  are  below  it  are  dilated,  and  those  above  are  con- 
tracted. There  is  another  passage,  called  by  physicians 
the  rough  artery,'^  which  reaches  to  the  lungs,  for  the  en- 
trance and  return  of  the  air  we  breathe ;  and  as  its  orifice 
is  joined  to  the  roots  of  the  tongue  a  little  above  the  part 
to  which  the  gullet  is  annexed,  it  is  furnished  with  a  sort 
of  coverlid,^  lest,  by  the  accidental  falling  of  any  food  into 
it,  the  respiration  should  be  stopj^ed. 

As  the  stomach,  which  is  beneath  the  gullet,  receives  the 
meat  and  drink,  so  the  lungs  and  the  heart  draw  in  the 
air  from  without.  The  stomach  is  wonderfully  composed, 
consisting  almost  wholly  of  nerves ;  it  abounds  with  mem- 
branes and  fibres,  and  detains  what  it  receives,  whether 
solid  or  liquid,  till  it  is  altered  and  digested.  It  some- 
times contracts,  sometimes  dilates.  It  blends  and  mixes 
the  food  together,  so  that  it  is  easily  concocted  and  di- 
gested by  its  force  of  heat,  and  by  the  animal  spirits  is 
distributed  into  the  other  parts  of  the  body. 

LV.  As  to  the  lungs,  they  are  of  a  soft  and  spongy  sub- 
stance, which  renders  them  the  most  commodious  for  res- 

*  Some  rend  moUitur,  and  some  molitur;  the  latter  of  which  P.  Ma- 
nucius  justly  prefers,  from  the  verb  vwlo,  molis;  from  whence,  sajs  he, 
molares  denies,  the  grinders. 

^  The  weasand,  or  windpipe. 

^  The  epiglottis,  which  is  a  cartilaginous  flap  in  the  shape  of  a  tongue, 
and  therefore  called  so. 


308        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

piration ;  they  alternately  dilate  and  contract  to  receive 
and  return  the  air,  that  what  is  the  chief  animal  suste- 
nance may  be  always  fresh.  The  juice/  by  which  we  are 
nourished,  being  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  food,  passes 
the  stomach  and  intestines  to  the  liver,  through  open  and 
direct  passages,  which  lead  from  the  mesentery  to  the 
gates  of  the  liver  (for  so  they  call  those  vessels  at  the  en- 
trance of  it).  There  are  other  passages  from  thence, 
through  which  the  food  has  its  course  when  it  has  passed 
the  liver.  When  the  bile,  and  those  humors  which  pro- 
ceed from  the  kidneys,  are  separated  from  the  food,  the  re- 
maining part  turns  to  blood,  and  flows  to  those  vessels  at 
the  entrance  of  the  liver  to  which  all  the  passages  adjoin. 
The  chyle,  being  conveyed  from  this  place  through  them 
into  the  vessel  called  the  hollow  vein,  is  mixed  together, 
and,  being  already  digested  and  distilled,  passes  into  the 
heart;  and  from  the  he:irt  it  is  communicated  through  a 
great  number  of  veins  to  every  part  of  the  body. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  describe  how  the  gross  remains  are 
detruded  by  the  motion  of  the  intestines,  which  contract 
and  dilate;  but  that  must  be  declined,  as  too  indelicate 
for  discourse.  Let  us  rather  explain  that  other  wonder  of 
nature,  the  air,  which  is  drawn  into  the  lungs,  receives 
heat  both  by  that  already  in  and  by  the  coagitation  of  the 
lungs ;  one  part  is  turned  back  by  respiration,  and  the  oth- 
er is  received  into  a  place  called  the  ventricle  of  the  heart.'' 
There  is  another  ventricle  like  it  annexed  to  the  heart,  into 
which  the  blood  flows  from  the  liver  through  the  hollow 
vein.  Thus  by  one  ventricle  the  blood  is  diffused  to  the 
extremities  through  the  veins,  and  by  the  other  the  breath 
is  communicated  through  the  arteries ;  and  there  are  such 
numbers  of  both  dispersed  through  the  whole  body  that 
they  manifest  a  divine  art. 

Why  need  I  speak  of  the  bones,  those  supports  of  the 
body,  whose  joints  are  so  wonderfully  contrived  for  sta- 
bility, and  to  render  the  limbs  complete  with  regard  to  mo- 
tion and  to  every  action  of  the  body?     Or  need  I  mention 

^  Cicero  is  here  giving  the  opinion  of  tlie  ancients  concerning  the  pas- 
sage of  tlie  chyle  till  it  is  converted  to  blood. 

'  What  Cicero  here  calls  the  ventricles  ofihe  heart  are  likewise  called 
auricles,  of  whicli  there  is  t'le  right  and  left. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.        309 

the  nerves,  by  wliicli  the  limbs  are  governed — their  many 
interweaviiigs,  and  their  proceeding  from  the  heart/  from 
whence,  like  the  veins  and  arteries,  they  have  their  origin, 
and  are  distributed  tlirough  the  whole  corporeal  frame? 

LVI.  To  this  skill  of  nature,  and  this  care  of  providence, 
so  diligent  and  so  ingenious,  many  reflections  may  be  add- 
ed, which  show  what  valuable  things  the  Deity  has  be- 
stowed on  man.  He  has  made  us  of  a  stature  tall  and  up- 
right, in  order  that  we  miglit  behold  the  heavens,  and  so 
arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  the  Gods ;  for  men  are  not 
simply  to  dwell  here  as  inhabitants  of  the  earth,  but  to  be, 
as  it  were,  spectators  of  the  heavens  and  tlie  stars,  which 
is  a  privilege  not  granted  to  any  other  kind  of  animated 
beings.  The  senses,  which  are  the  interpreters  and  mes- 
sengers of  things,  are  placed  in  the  head,  as  in  a  tower, 
and  wonderfully  situated  for  their  proper  uses ;  for  the 
eyes,  being  in  the  highest  part,  have  the  office  of  sentinels, 
in  discovering  to  us  objects;  and  the  ears  are  convenient- 
ly placed  in  a  high  part  of  tlie  person,  being  appointed  to 
receive  sound,  which  naturally  ascends.  The  nostrils  have 
the  like  situation,  because  all  scent  likewise  ascends ;  and 
they  have,  with  great  reason,  a  near  vicinity  to  the  mouth, 
because  they  assist  us  in  judging  of  meat  and  drink.  The 
taste,  which  is  to  distinguish  the  quality  of  what  we  take, 
is  in  that  part  of  the  mouth  where  nature  has  laid  open 
a  passage  for  what  we  eat  and  drink.  But  the  touch  is 
equally  diffused  through  the  whole  body,  that  we  may  not 
receive  any  blows,  or  the  too  rigid  attacks  of  cold  and 
heat,  without  feeling  them.  And  as  in  building  the  archi- 
tect averts  from  the  eyes  and  nose  of  the  master  those 
things  which  must  necessarily  be  offensive,  so  has  nature 
removed  far  from  our  senses  what  is  of  the  same  kind  in 
the  human  body. 

LVII.  What  artificer  but  nature,  whose  direction  is  in- 
comparable, could  have  exhibited  so  much  ingenuity  in  the 
formation  of  the  senses?  In  the  first  place,  she  has  cov- 
ered and  invested  the  eyes  with  the  ,^nest  membranes, 
which  she  Iiath  made  transparent,  that  we  may  see  througli 

*  The  Stoics  and  Peripatetics  said  that  the  nerves,  veins,  and  arteries 
come  directly  from  the  heart.  According  to  the  anatomy  of  the  mod- 
erns, they  come  from  the  brain. 


310         THE  NATUKE  OF  THE  GODS. 

thein,and  firm  in  their  texture,  to  preserve  the  eyes.  She 
has  made  tliem  slippery  and  movable,  that  they  might 
avoid  what  would  offend  them,  and  easily  direct  the  sight 
wherever  they  will.  The  actual  organ  of  sight,  wdiich  is 
called  the  pupil,  is  so  small  that  it  can  easily  shun  what- 
ever might  be  hurtful  to  it.  The  eyelids,  which  are  their 
coverings,  are  soft  and  smooth,  that  they  may  not  injure 
the  eyes;  and  are  made  to  shut  at  the  apprehension  of  any 
accident,  or  to  open  at  pleasure ;  and  these  movements 
nature  has  ordained  to  be  made  in  an  instant:  they  are 
fortified  with  a  sort  of  palisade  of  hairs,  to  keep  off  what 
may  be  noxious  to  them  when  open,  and  to  be  a  fence  to 
their  repose  when  sleep  closes  them,  and  allows  them  to 
rest  as  if  they  were  wrapped  up  in  a  case.  Besides,  they 
are  commodiously  hidden  and  defended  by  eminences  on 
every  side ;  for  on  the  upper  part  the  eyebrows  turn  aside 
the  perspiration  w^hich  falls  from  the  head  and  forehead ; 
the  cheeks  beneath  rise  a  little,  so  as  to  protect  them  on 
the  lower  side  ;  and  the  nose  is  placed  between  them  as  a 
wall  of  separation. 

The  hearing  is  always  open,  for  that  is  a  sense  of  which 
we  are  in  need  even  while  we  are  sleeping;  and  the  mo- 
ment that  any  sound  is  admitted  by  it  we  are  awakened 
even  from  sleep.  It  has  a  winding  jDassage,  lest  anything 
should  slip  into  it,  as  it  might  if  it  were  straight  and  sim- 
ple. Nature  also  hath  taken  the  same  precaution  in  mak- 
ing there  a  viscous  humor,  that  if  any  little  creatures  should 
endeavor  to  creep  in,  they  might  stick  in  it  as  in  bird- 
lime. The  ears  (by  which  w^e  mean  the  outward  part) 
are  made  prominent,  to  cover  and  preserve  the  hearing, 
lest  the  sound  should  be  dissipated  and  escape  before  the 
sense  is  affected.  Their  entrances  are -hard  and  horny, 
and  their  form  winding,  because  bodies  of  this  kind  better 
return  and  increase  the  sound.  This  appears  in  the  harp, 
lute,  or  horn  ;^  and  from  all  tortuous  and  enclosed  places 
sounds  are  returned  stronger. 

The  nostrils,  in  dike  manner,  are  ever  open,  because  we 
have  a  continual  use  for  them ;  and  their  entrances  also 
are   rather  narrow,  lest   anything   noxious    should    enter 

*  Tlic  antlior  means  all  musical  instruments,  ^Yhethel'  string  or  wind 
instruments,  which  are  hollow  and  tortuous. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  311 

them;  and  they  have  always  a  humidity  necessary  for 
the  repelling  dust  and  many  other  extraneous  bodies. 
Tlie  taste,  having  the  mouth  for  an  enclosure,  is  admira- 
bly situated,  both  in  regard  to  the  use  we  make  of  it  and 
to  its  security. 

LVIII.  Besides,  every  human  sense  is  much  more  ex- 
quisite than  those  of  brutes;  for  our  eyes,  in  those  arts 
which  come  under  their  judgment,  distinguish  with  great 
nicety;  as  in  painting,  sculpture,  engraving,  and  in  the 
gesture  and  motion  of  bodies.  They  understand  the  beau- 
ty, proportion,  and,  as  I  may  so  term  it,  the  becomingness 
of  colors  and  figures;  they  distinguish  things  of  greater 
importance,  even  virtues  and  vices ;  they  know  wdiether  a 
man  is  angry  or  calm,  cheerful  or  sad,  courageous  or  cow- 
ardly, bold  or  timorous. 

The  judgment  of  the  ears  is  not  less  admirably  and 
scientifically  contrived  with  regard  to  vocal  and  instru- 
mental music.  They  distinguish  the  variety  of  sounds, 
the  measure,  the  stops,  the  different  sorts  of  voices,  the 
treble  and  tlie  base,  the  soft  and  the  harsh,  the  sharp  and 
the  flat,  of  which  human  ears  only  are  capable  to  judge. 
There  is  likewise  great  judgment  in  the  smell,  the  taste, 
and  the  touch ;  to  indulge  and  gratify  which  senses  more 
arts  have  been  invented  than  I  could  wish:  it  is  apparent 
to  what  excess  we  have  arrived  in  the  composition  of  our 
perfumes,  the  preparation  of  our  food,  and  the  enjoyment 
of  corporeal  pleasures. 

LIX.  Again,  he  who  does  not  perceive  the  soul  and 
mind  of  man,  his  reason,  prudence,  and  discernment,  to 
be  the  work  of  a  divine  providence,  seems  himself  to  be 
destitute  of  those  faculties.  While  I  am  on  this  subject, 
Cotta,  I  wish  I  had  your  eloquence :  how  would  you  illus- 
trate so  fine  a  subject !  You  would  show  the  great  ex- 
tent of  the  understanding ;  how  we  collect  our  ideas,  and 
join  those  which  follow  to  those  which  precede ;  establish 
principles,  draw  consequences,  define  things  separately, 
and  comprehend  them  with  accuracy;  from  whence  you 
demonstrate  how  great  is  the  power  of  intelligence  and 
knowledge,  which  is  such  that  even  God  himself  has  no 
qualities  more  admirnjble.  How  valuable  (though  you 
Academics  despise  and  even  deny  that  we  have  it)  is  our 


312        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

knowleclge  of  exterior  objects,  from  the  perception  of  the 
senses  joined  to  the  application  of  the  mind;  by  which 
we  see  in  what  relation  one  thing  stands  to  another,  and 
by  the  aid  of  which  we  have  invented  those  arts  which 
are  necessary  for  the  snpport  and  pleasure  of  life.  How 
charming  is  eloquence !  How  divine  that  mistress  of  the 
universe,  as  you  call  it !  It  teaches  us  what  we  were  ig- 
norant of,  and  makes  us  capable  of  teaching  what  we  have 
learned.  By  this  we  exhort  others ;  by  this  we  persuade 
them ;  by  this  we  comfort  the  afflicted ;  by  this  we  de- 
liver the  affrighted  from  their  fear;  by  this  we  moderate 
excessive  joy;  by  this  we  assuage  the  passions  of  lust  and 
anger.  This  it  is  which  bound  men  by  the  chains  of 
right  and  law,  formed  the  bonds  of  civil  society,  and  made 
us  quit  a  wild  and  savage  life. 

And  it  will  appear  incredible,  unless  you  carefully  ob- 
serve the  facts,  how  complete  the  work  of  nature  is  in 
giving  us  the  use  of  speech ;  for,  first  of  all,  there  is  an 
artery  from  the  lungs  to  the  bottom  of  the  mouth,  through 
which  the  voice,  having  its  original  principle  in  the  mind, 
is  transmitted.  Then  the  tongue  is  placed  in  the  mouth, 
bounded  by  the  teeth.  It  softens  and  modulates  the  voice, 
which  would  otherwise  be  confusedly  uttered ;  and,  by 
pushing  it  to  the  teeth  and  other  parts  of  the  mouth, 
makes  the  sound  distinct  and  articulate.  We  Stoics,  there- 
fore, compare  the  tongue  to  the  bow  of  an  instrument,  the 
teeth  to  the  strings,  and  the  nostrils  to  the  sounding-board. 

LX.  But  how  commodious  are  the  hands  which  nature 
has  given  to  man,  and  how  beautifully  do  they  minister  to 
many  arts  !  For,  such  is  the  flexibility  of  the  joints,  that 
our  fingers  are  closed  and  opened  without  any  difficulty. 
With  their  help,  the  hand  is  formed  for  painting,  carving, 
and  engraving ;  for  playing  on  stringed  instruments,  and 
on  the  pipe.  These  are  matters  of  pleasure.  There  are 
also  works  of  necessity,  such  as  tilling  the  ground,  build- 
ing houses,  making  cloth  and  habits,  and  working  in  brass 
and  iron.  It  is  the  business  of  the  mind  to  invent,  the 
senses  to  perceive,  and  the  hands  to  execute;  so  that  if  we 
have  buildings,  if  we  are  clothed,  if  we  live  in  safety,  if 
we  have  cities,  walls,  habitations,  and  temples,  it  is  to  the 
hands  we  owe  them. 


THE  NATURE   OF  THE   GODS.  313 

By  our  labor,  that  is,  by  our  liancls,  variety  and  plenty 
of  food  are  provided ;  for,  without  culture,  many  fruits, 
wiiicli  serve  either  for  present  or  future  consumption, 
would  not  be  produced;  besides,  we  feed  on  flesh,  fish, 
and  fowl,  catching  some,  and  bringing  up  others.  We 
subdue  four-footed  beasts  for  our  carriage,  whose  speed 
and  strength  supply  our  slowness  and  inability.  On  some 
we  put  burdens,  on  others  yokes.  We  convert  the  sagac- 
ity of  the  elephant  and  the  quick  scent  of  the  dog  to  our 
own  advantage.  Out  of  the  caverns  of  the  earth  we  dig 
iron,  a  thing  entirely  necessary  for  the  cultivation  of  the 
ground.  We  discover  the  hidden  veins  of  copper,  silver, 
and  gold,  advantageous  for  our  use  and  beautiful  as  orna- 
ments. We  cut  down  trees,  and  use  every  kind  of  wild 
and  cultivated  timber,  not  only  to  make  fire  to  warm  ns 
and  dress  our  meat,  but  also  for  building,  that  we  may 
have  houses  to  defend  us  from  the  heat  and  cold.  With 
timber  likewise  we  build  ships,  which  bring  us  from  all 
parts  every  commodity  of  life.  We  are  the  only  animals 
who,  from  our  knowledge  of  navigation,  can  manage  what 
nature  has  made  the  most  violent — the  sea  and  the  winds. 
Thus  we  obtain  from  the  ocean  great  numbers  of  prof- 
itable things.  We  are  the  absolute  masters  of  what  the 
earth  produces.  We  enjoy  the  mountains  and  the  plains. 
The  rivers  and  the  lakes  are  ours.  We  sow  the  seed, 
and  plant  the  trees.  We  fertilize  the  earth  by  overflow- 
ing it.  We  stop,  direct,  and  turn  the  rivers  :  in  short,  by 
our  hands  we  endeavor,  by  our  various  operations  in  this 
world,  to  make,  as  it  were,  another  nature. 

LXI.  But  what  shall  I  say  of  human  reason  ?  Has  it 
not  even  entered  the  heavens?  Man  alone  of  all  animals 
has  observed  the  courses  of  the  stars,  their  risings  and 
settings.  By  man  the  day,  the  month,  the  year,  is  detei'- 
mined.  He  foresees  the  eclipses  of  the  sun  and  moon,  and 
foretells  them  to  futurity,  marking  their  greatness,  dura- 
tion, and  precise  time.  From  the  contemplation  of  these 
thinojs  the  mind  extracts  the  knowledcje  of  the  Gods — a 
knowledge  which  produces  piety,  with  which  is  connected 
justice,  and  all  the  other  virtues;  from  which  arises  a  life 
of  felicity,  inferior  to  that  of  the  Gods  in  no  single  partic- 
ular, except  in  immortalitv,  which  is  not  absolutely  neces- 

14 


314        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

sary  to  happy  living.  In  explaining  these  things,  I  think 
that  I  have  sufficiently  demonstrated  the  superiority  of 
man  to  other  animated  beings;  from  whence  we  should 
infer  that  neither  the  form  and  position  of  his  limbs  nor 
that  strength  of  mind  and  understanding  could  possibly 
be  the  effect  of  chance. 

LXII.  I  am  now  to  prove,  by  way  of  conclusion,  that 
every  thing  in  this  world  of  use  to  us  was  made  designed- 
ly for  us. 

First  of  all,  the  universe  was  made  for  the  Gods  and 
men,  and  all  things  therein  were  prepai-ed  and  provided 
for  our  service.  For  the  world  is  the  common  habitation 
or  city  of  the  Gods  and  men ;  for  they  are  the  only  rea- 
sonable beings:  they  alone  live  by  justice  and  law.  As, 
therefore,  it  must  be  presumed  the  cities  of  Athens  and 
Lnceda3mon  w^ere  built  for  the  Athenians  and  Lacedaemo- 
nians, and  as  everything  there  is  said  to  belong  to  those 
people,  so  everything  in  the  imiverse  may  with  propriety 
be  said  to  belong  to  the  Gods  and  men,  and  to  them  alone. 

In  the  next  place,  though  the  revolutions  of  the  sun, 
moon,  and  all  the  stars  are  necessary  for  the  cohesion  of 
the  universe,  yet  may  they  be  considered  also  as  objects 
designed  for  the  view  and  contemplation  of  man.  There 
is  no  sight  less  apt  to  satiate  the  eye,  none  more  beautiful, 
or  more  worthy  to  employ  our  reason  and  penetration. 
By  measuring  their  courses  we  find  the  different  seasons, 
their  durations  and  vicissitudes,  which,  if  they  are  known 
to  men  alone,  we  must  believe  were  made  only  for  their 
sake. 

Does  the  earth  bring  forth  fruit  and  grain  in  such 
excessive  abundance  and  variety  for  men  or  for  brutes  ? 
The  plentiful  and  exhilarating  fruit  of  the  vine  and  the 
olive-tree  are  entirely  useless  to  beasts.  They  know  not 
tlie  time  for  sowing,  tilling,  or  for  reaping  in  season  and 
gathering  in  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  or  for  laying  up  nnd 
preserving  their  stores.  Man  alone  has  the  care  and  ad- 
vantage of  these  things. 

LXIII.  Thus,  as  the  lute  and  the  pipe  were  made  for 
those,  and  those  only,  who  are  capable  of  playing  on  them, 
so  it  must  be  allowed  that  the  i)roduce  of  the  earth  was 
designed   for  those  only  who   make   use   of  them;   and 


THE  NATUKE   OF  THE   GODS.  315 

though  some  beasts  may  rob  us  of  a  small  part,  it  does 
not  follow  that  the  earth  produced  it  also  for  them.  Men 
do  not  store  up  corn  for  mice  and  ants,  but  for  their 
wives,  their  children,  and  their  families.  Beasts,  there- 
fore, as  I  said  before,  possess  it  by  stealth,  but  their  mas- 
ters openly  and  freely.  It  is  for  us,  therefore,  that  nature 
hath  provided  this  abundance.  Can  there  be  any  doubt 
that  this  plenty  and  variety  of  fruit,  which  delight  not 
only  the  taste,  but  the  smell  and  sight,  was  by  nature  in- 
tended for  men  only?  Beasts  are 'so  far  from  being  par- 
takers of  this  design,  that  we  see  that  even  they  them- 
selves were  made  for  man;  for  of  what  utility  would 
sheep  be,  unless  for  tlieir  wool,  which,  when  dressed  and 
woven,  serves  us  for  clotliing?  For  they  are  not  capa- 
ble of  anything,  not  even  of  procuring  their  own  food, 
without  the  care  and  assistance  of  man.  The  fidelity  of 
the  dog,  his  affectionate  fawning  on  his  master,  his  aver- 
sion to  strangers,  his  sagacity  in  finding  game,  and  his 
vivacity  in  pursuit  of  it,  what  do  these  qualities  denote 
but  that  he  was  created  for  our  use?  Why  need  I  men- 
tion oxen  ?  We  perceive  that  their  backs  Avere  not  form- 
ed for  carrying  burdens,  but  their  necks  were  naturally 
made  for  the  yoke,  and  their  strong  broad  shoulders  to 
draw  the  plough.  In  the  Golden  Age,  which  poets  speak 
of,  they  were  so  greatly  beneficial  to  the  husbandman  in 
tilling  the  fallow  ground  that  no  violence  was  ever  offered 
them,  and  it  was  even  thought  a  crime  to  eat  them : 

The  Iron  Age  began  the  fatal  trade 
Of  blood,  and  haminer'd  the  destructive  blade ; 
Then  men  began  to  make  the  ox  to  bleed, 
And  on  the  tamed  and  docile  beast  to  feed.' 

LXIV.  It  would  take  a  long  time  to  relate  the  advan- 
tages which  we  receive  from  mules  and  asses,  which  un- 
doubtedly were  designed  for  our  use.  What  is  the  swine 
good  for  but  to  eat?  whose  life,  Chrysippus  says,  was 
given  it  but  as  salt^  to  keep  it  from  putrefying ;  and  as  it 

'  The  Latin  version  of  Cicero  is  a  translation  from  the  Greek  of 
Aratus. 

"  Chrysippus's  meaning  is,  that  the  swine  is  so  inactive  and  slothful  a 
beast  that  life  seems  to  be  of  no  use  to  it  but  to  keep  it  from  putrefac- 
tion, as  salt  keeps  dead  flesh. 


316         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

is  proper  food  for  man,  nature  hath  made  no  animal  more 
fruitful.  What  a  multitude  of  birds  and  lishes  are  taken 
by  the  art  and  contrivance  of  man  only,  and  which  are  sc 
delicious  to  our  taste  that  one  would  be  tempted  some- 
times to  believe  that  this  Providence  which  watches  ovti- 
lis  was  an  Epicurean !  Though  we  think  there  are  some 
birds — the  alites  and  oscines,^  as  our  augurs  call  them — 
which  were  made  merely  to  foretell  events. 

The  large  savage  beasts  we  take  by  hunting,  partly  for 
food,  partly  to  exercise*  ourselves  in  imitation  of  martial 
discipline,  and  to  use  those  we  can  tame  and  instruct,  as 
elepliants,  or  to  extract  remedies  for  our  diseases  and 
wounds,  as  we  do  from  certain  roots  and  liei'bs,  the  virtues 
of  which  are  known  by  long  use  and  experience.  Repre- 
sent to  yourself  the  whole  earth  and  seas  as  if  before  your 
eyes.  You  will  see  the  vast  and  fertile  plains,  the  thick, 
sliady  mountains,  the  immense  pasturage  for  cattle,  and 
ships  sailing  over  the  deep  with  incredible  celerity;  nor 
are  our  discoveries  only  on  the  face  of  tlie  earth,  but  in 
its  secret  recesses  there  are  many  useful  things,  which  be- 
ing made  for  man,  by  man  alone  are  discovered. 

LXV.  Another,  and  in  my  opinion  the  strongest,  proof 
that  the  providence  of  the  Gods  takes  care  of  us  is  divina- 
tion, which  both  of  you,  perhaps,  will  attack;  you,  Cotta, 
because  Carneades  took  pleasure  in  inveighing  against  tlie 
Stoics ;  and  you,  Velleius,  because  there  is  nothing  Epi- 
curus ridicules  so  much  as  the  prediction  of  events.  Yet 
the  truth  of  divination  appears  in  many  places,  on  many 
occasions,  often  in  private,  but  particularly  in  public  con- 
cerns. We  receive  many  intimations  from  the  foresight 
and  presages  of  augurs  and  auspices;  from  oracles,  proph- 
ecies, dreams,  and  prodigies;  and  it  often  happens  that 
by  these  means  events  liave  proved  happy  to  men,  and 
imminent  dangers  have  been  avoided.  This  knowledge, 
therefore — call  it  either  a  kind  of  transport,  or  an  art,  or 
a  natural  faculty — is  certainly  found  only  in  men,  and  is  a 
gift  from  the  immortal  Gods.     If  tliese  proofs,  when  taken 

'  Ales,  in  tlie  general  signification,  is  any  large  bird  ;  and  oscinis  is 
any  singing  bird.  But  they  here  mean  those  birds  which  are  nsed  in 
niigury :  alites  are  the  birds  whose  flight  was  observed  by  the  augurs, 
and  oscines  the  birds  from  whose  voices  they  augured. 


.THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  317 

separately,  should  make  no  impression  upon  your  mind, 
yet,  when  collected  together,  they  must  certainly  affect 
you. 

Besides,  the  Gods  not  only  provide  for  mankind  univer- 
sally, but  for  particular  men.  You  may  bring  this  univer- 
sality to  gradually  a  smaller  number,  and  again  you  may 
reduce  that  smaller  number  to  individuals. 

LXVI.  For  if  the  reasons  which  I  have  given  prove  to 
all  of  us  that  the  Gods  take  care  of  all  men,  in  every  coun- 
try, in  every  part  of  the  world  separate  from  our  conti- 
nent, they  take  care  of  those  who  dwell  on  the  same  land 
with  us,  from  east  to  west;  and  if  they  regard  those  who 
inhabit  this  kind  of  great  island,  which  we  call  the  globe 
of  the  earth,  they  have  the  like  regard  for  those  who  pos- 
sess the  parts  of  this  island — Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa; 
and  therefore  they  favor  the  parts  of  these  parts,  as  Rome, 
Athens,  Sparta,  and  Rhodes ;  and  particular  men  of  these 
cities,  separate  from  the  whole ;  as  Curius,  Fabricius,  Cor- 
uncanius,  in  the  war  with  Pyrrhus;  in  the  first  Punic  war, 
Calatinus,  Duillius,  Metellus,  Lutatius;  in  the  second, 
Maximus,  Marcellus,  Africanus  ;  after  these,  PauUus,  Grac- 
chus, Cato;  and  in  our  fathers'  times,  Scipio,  La^lius. 
Rome  also  and  Greece  have  produced  many  illustrious 
men,  who  we  cannot  believe  were  so  without  the  assistance 
of  the  Deity ;  which  is  the  reason  that  the  poets,  Homer 
in  particular,  joined  their  chief  heroes — Ulysses,  Agamem- 
non, Diomedes,  Achilles — to  certain  Deities,  as  companions 
in  their  adventures  and  dangers.  Besides,  the  frequent 
appearances  of  the  Gods,  as  I  have  before  mentioned,  de- 
monstrate their  regard  for  cities  and  particular  men.  This 
is  also  apparent  indeed  from  the  foreknowledge  of  events, 
which  we  receive  either  sleeping  or  waking.  We  are  like- 
wise forewarned  of  many  things  by  the  entrails  of  victims, 
by  presages,  and  many  other  means,  which  have  been  long 
observed  with  such  exactness  as  to  produce  an  art  of  divi- 
nation. 

There  never,  therefore,  was  a  great  man  without  divine 
inspiration.  If  a  storm  should  damage  the  corn  or  vino- 
yard  of  a  person,  or  any  accident  should  deprive  him  of 
some  conveniences  of  life,  we  should  not  judge  from  thence 
that  the  Deity  hates  or  neglects  him.     The  Gods  take  care 


318  THE  NATURE  OF  THE   GODS.. 

of  great  things,  and  disregard  the  small.  But  to  truly 
great  men  all  things  ever  happen  prosperously;  as  has 
been  sufficiently  asserted  and  proved  by  us  Stoics,  as  well 
as  by  Socrates,  the  prince  of  philosophers,  in  his  discourses 
on  the  infinite  advantages  arising  from  virtue. 

LXVII.  This  is  almost  the  whole  that  hath  occurred  to 
my  mind  on  the  nature  of  the  Gods,  and  what  I  thought 
proper  to  advance.  Do  you,  Cotta,  if  I  may  advise,  defend 
the  same  cause.  Remember  that  in  Rome  you  keep  the 
first  rank ;  remember  that  you  are  Pontifex ;  and  as  your 
school  is  at  liberty  to  argue  on  which  side  you  please,^  do 
you  rather  take  mine,  and  reason  on  it  with  that  eloquence 
which  you  acquired  by  your  rhetorical  exercises,  and  which 
the  Academy  improved ;  for  it  is  a  pernicious  and  impi- 
ous custom  to  argue  against  the  Gods,  whether  it  be  done 
seriously,  or  only  in  pretence  and  out  of  sport. 


BOOK  III. 

I.  When  Balbus  had  ended  this  discourse,  then  Cotta, 
with  a  smile,  rejoined,  You  dii-ect  me  too  late  which  side 
to  defend;  for  during  the  course  of  your  argument  I  was 
revolving  in  my  mind  what  objections  to  make  to  MJiat 
you  were  saying,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  opposition, 
as  of  obliging  you  to  explain  what  I  did  not  perfectly  com- 
prehend ;  and  as  every  one  may  use  his  own  judgment,  it 
is  scarcely  possible  for  me  to  think  in  every  instance  ex- 
actly what  you  wish. 

You  have  no  idea,  O  Cotta,  said  Yelleius,  how  impatient 
I  am  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say.  For  since  our  friend 
Balbus  was  highly  delighted  with  your  discourse  against 
Epicurus,  I  ought  in  my  turn  to  be  solicitous  to  hear  what 
you  can  say  against  the  Stoics ;  and  I  therefore  Avill  give 
you  my  best  attention,  for  I  believe  you  are,  as  usual,  well 
prepared  for  the  engagement. 

I  wish, by  Hercules  !  I  were,  replies  Cotta ;  for  it  is  more 
difficult  to  dispute  witli  Lucilius  than  it  was  with  you. 

'  As  the  Academics  doubted  everything,  it  was  indifferent  to  them 
which  side  of  a  question  they  took. 


THE  NATURE   OF  THE   GODS.  319 

Why  so  ?  says  Velleius.  Because,  replies  Cotta,  your  Ep- 
icurus, in  my  opinion,  does  not  contend  strongly  for  the 
Gods:  he  only, for  the  sake  of  avoiding  any  unpopularity 
or  punishment,  is  afraid  to  deny  their  existence;  for  when 
he  asserts  that  the  Gods  are  wholly  inactive  and  regard- 
less of  everything,  and  that  they  have  limbs  like  ours,  but 
make  no  use  of  them,  he  seems  to  jest  with  us,  and  to 
think  it  sufficient  if  he  allows  that  there  are  beings  of  any 
kind  happy  and  eternal.  But  with  regard  to  Balbus,  I 
suppose  you  observed  how  many  things  were  said  by  him, 
which,  however  false  they  may  be,  yet  have  a  perfect  co- 
herence and  connection ;  therefore,  my  design,  as  I  said,  in 
opposing  him,  is  not  so  much  to  confute  his  principles  as 
to  induce  him  to  explain  what  I  do  not  clearly  understand : 
for  which  reason,  Balbus,  I  will  give  you  the  choice,  either 
to  answer  me  every  particular  as  I  go  on,  or  permit  me 
to  proceed  without  interruption.  If  you  want  any  expla- 
nation, replies  Balbus,  I  would  rather  you  would  propose 
your  doubts  singly ;  but  if  your  intention  is  rather  to  con- 
fute me  than  to  seek  instruction  for  yourself,  it  shall  be  as 
you  please;  I  will  either  answer  you  immediately  on  every 
point,  or  stay  till  you  have  finished  your  discourse. 

II.  Very  well,  says  Cotta;  then  let  us  proceed  as  our 
conversation  shall  direct.  But  before  I  enter  on  the  sub- 
ject, I  have  a  word  to  say  concerning  myself;  for  I  am 
greatly  influenced  by  your  authority,  and  your  exhortation 
at  the  conclusion  of  your  discourse,  when  you  desired  me 
to  remember  that  I  was  Cotta  and  Pontifex;  by  which  I 
presume  you  intimated  that  I  should  defend  the  sacred 
rites  and  religion  and  ceremonies  which  we  received  from 
our  ancestors.  Most  undoubtedly  I  always  have,  and  al- 
ways shall  defend  them,  nor  shall  the  arguments  either  of 
the  learned  or  unlearned  ever  remove  the  opinions  which  I 
have  imbibed  from  them  concerning  the  worship  of  the  im- 
mortal Gods.  In  matters  of  religion  I  submit  to  the  rules 
of  the  high-priests,  T.  Coruncanius,  P.  Scipio,  and  P.  Scae- 
vola ;  not  to  the  sentiments  of  Zeno,  Cleanthes,  or  Chrysip- 
pus  ;  and  I  pay  a  greater  regard  to  what  C.  La^lius,  one  of 
our  augurs  and  wise  men,  has  written  concerning  religion, 
in  that  noble  oration  of  his,  than  to  the  most  eminent  of 
the  Stoics :  and  as  the  whole  relisrion  of  the  Romans  at 


320        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

first  consisted  in  sacrifices  and  divination  by  birds,  to 
which  have  since  been  added  predictions,  if  the  interpret- 
ers^ of  the  Sibylline  oracle  or  the  aruspices  have  foretold 
any  event  from  portents  and  prodigies,  I  have  ever  thought 
that  there  was  no  point  of  all  these  holy  things  which  de- 
served to  be  despised.  I  have  been  even  persuaded  that 
Romulus,  by  instituting  divination,  and  Numa,  by  estab- 
lishing sacrifices,  laid  the  foundation  of  Rome,  which  un- 
doubtedly would  never  have  risen  to  such  a  height  of 
grandeur  if  the  Gods  had  not  been  made  propitious  by 
this  worship.  These,  Balbus,  are  my  sentiments  both  as 
a  priest  and  as  Cotta.  But  you  must  bring  me  to  your 
opinion  by  the  force  of  your  reason :  for  I  have  a  right  to 
demand  from  you,  as  a  philosopher,  a  reason  for  the  re- 
ligion which  you  would  have  me  embrace.  But  I  must 
believe  the  religion  of  our  ancestors  without  any  proof. 

III.  What  proof,  says  Balbus,  do  you  require  of  me? 
You  have  proposed,  says  Cotta,  four  articles.  First  of  all, 
you  undertook  to  prove  that  there  "  are  Gods ;"  secondly, 
"  of  what  kind  and  character  they  are ;"  thirdly,  that  "  the 
universe  is  governed  by  them;"  lastly, that  "they  provide 
for  the  welfare  of  mankind  in  particular."  Thus,  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  you  divided  your  discourse.  Exactly  so, 
replies  Balbus ;  but  let  us  see  what  you  require. 

Let  us  examine,  says  Cotta,  every  proposition.  The  first 
one — that  there  are  Gods — is  never  contested  but  by  the 
most  impious  of  men ;  nay,  though  it  can  never  be  rooted 
out  of  my  mind,  yet  I  believe  it  on  the  authority  of  our 
ancestors,  and  not  on  the  proofs  which  you  have  brought. 
Why  do  you  expect  a  proof  from  me,  says  Balbus,  if  you 
thoroughly  believe  it?  Because,  says  Cotta,  I  come  to  this 
discussion  as  if  I  had  never  thought  of  the  Gods,  or  heard 
anything  concerning  them.  Take  me  as  a  disciple  wholly 
ignorant  and  unbiassed,  and  prove  to  me  all  the  points 
which  I  ask. 

Begin,  then,  replies  Balbus.  I  would  first  know,  says 
Cotta,  why  you  have  been  so  long  in  j^roving  the  existence 
of  the  Gods,  which  you  said  was  a  point  so  very  evident 
to  all,  that  there  was  no  need  of  any  proof?     In  that,  an- 

^  The  keepers  and  interpreters  of  the  Sibylline  oracles  were  the  Qiiin- 
decimviri. 


THE  NATURE   OF  THE  GODS.  321 

swers  Balbus,  I  have  followed  your  example,  whom  I  have 
often  observed,  when  pleading  in  the  Forum,  to  load  the 
judge  with  all  the  arguments  which  the  nature  of  your 
cause  would  permit.  This  also  is  the  practice  of  philoso- 
phers, and  I  have  a  right  to  follow  it.  Besides,  you  may 
as  well  ask  me  why  I  look  upon  you  with  two  eyes,  since  I 
can  see  you  with  one. 

IV.  You  shall  judge,  then, yourself,  says  Cotta,  if  this  is 
a  very  just  comparison;  for,  when  I  plead,  I  do  not  dwell 
upon  any  point  agreed  to  be  self-evident,  because  long  rea- 
soning only  serves  to  confound  the  clearest  matters;  be- 
sides, though  I  might  take  this  method  in  pleading,  yet  I 
should  not  make  use  of  it  in  such  a  discourse  as  this,  which 
requires  the  nicest  distinction.  And  with  regard  to  your 
making  use  of  one  eye  only  when  you  look  on  me,  there  is 
no  reason  for  it,  since  together  they  have  the  same  view; 
and  since  nature,  to  which  you  attribute  wisdom,  has  been 
pleased  to  give  us  two  passages  by  which  we  receive  light. 
But  the  truth  is,  that  it  was  because  you  did  not  think 
that  the  existence  of  the  Gods  was  so  evident  as  you  could 
wish  that  you  therefore  brought  so  many  proofs.  It  was 
sufficient  for  me  to  believe  it  on  the  tradition  of  our  an- 
cestors ;  and  since  you  disregard  authorities,  and  appeal 
to  reason,  permit  my  reason  to  defend  them  against  yours. 
The  proofs  on  which  you  found  the  existence  of  the  Gods 
tend  only  to  render  a  proposition  doubtful  that,  in  my 
opinion,  is  not  so ;  I  have  not  only  retained  in  my  memory 
the  whole  of  these  proofs,  but  even  the  order  in  which  you 
proposed  them.  Tlie  first  was,  that  when  we  lift  up  our 
eyes  towards  the  heavens,  we  immediately  conceive  that 
there  is  some  divinity  that  governs  those  celestial  bodies; 
on  which  you  quoted  this  passage — 

Look  up  to  the  refulgent  heaven  above, 
Which  all  men  call,  unanimously,  Jove ; 

intimating  that  we  should  invoke  that  as  Jupiter,  rather 
than  our  Capitoline  Jove,*  or  that  it  is  evident  to  the  whole 
world  that  those  bodies  are  Gods  which  Velleius  and  many 
others  do  not  place  even  in  the  rank  of  animated  beings. 

*  The  popular  name  of  Jupiter  in  Eome,  being  looked  upon  as  defend- 
er of  the  Capitol  (in  which  he  was  placed),  and  stayer  of  the  State. 

14* 


322        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Another  strong  proof,  in  your  opinion,  was  that  the 
belief  of  the  existence  of  the  Gods  was  nniversal,  and 
that  mankind  was  daily  more  and  more  convinced  of  it. 
What!  should  an  affair  of  such  inipoitance  be  left  to  the 
decision  of  fools,  who,  by  your  sect  especially,  are  called 
madmen  ? 

V.  But  the  Gods  have  appeared  to  us,  as  to  Postliumins 
at  the  Lake  Kegilhis,  and  to  Vatienus  in  the  Salarian  Way: 
something  you  mentioned,  too,  I  know  not  what,  of  a  battle 
of  the  Locrians  at  Sagra.  Do  you  believe  that  the  Tyn- 
daridae,  as  you  called  them ;  that  is,  men  sprung  from  men, 
and  who  were  buried  in  Lacedaemon,  as  we  learn  from  lio- 
jner,  who  lived  in  the  next  age — do  you  believe,  I  say,  that 
they  appeared  to  Vatienus  on  the  road  mounted  on  white 
liorses,  without  any  servant  to  attend  them,  to  tell  the  vic- 
tory of  the  Romans  to  a  country  fellow  rather  than  to  M. 
Cato,  who  was  at  that  time  the  chief  person  of  the  senate? 
Do  you  take  that  print  of  a  horse's  hoof  which  is  now  to 
be  seen  on  a  stone  at  Regillus  to  be  made  by  Castor's 
horse  ?  Should  you  not  believe,  what  is  probable,  that  the 
souls  of  eminent  men,  such  as  the  Tyndaridae,  are  divine 
and  immortal,  rather  than  that  those  bodies  W'hich  had 
been  reduced  to  ashes  should  mouiA  on  horses,  and  fight 
in  an  army  ?  If  you  say  that  was  possible,  you  ought  to 
show  how  it  is  so,  and  not  amuse  us  with  fabulous  old 
women's  stories. 

Do  you  take  these  for  fabulous  stories?  says  Balbus. 
Is  not  the  temple,  built  by  Posthumius  in  honor  of  Castor 
and  Pollux,  to  be  seen  in  the  Forum  ?  Is  not  the  decree 
of  the  senate  concerning  Vatienus  still  subsisting  ?  As  to 
the  affair  of  Sagra,  it  is  a  common  proverb  among  the 
Greeks ;  when  they  would  affirm  anything  strongly,  they 
say  "  It  is  as  certain  as  what  passed  at  Sagra."  Ought  not 
such  authorities  to  move  you?  You  oppose  me,  replies 
Cotta,  with  stories,  but  I  ask  reasons  of  you.^  *  *  * 

VI.  We  are  now  to  speak  of  predictions.  No  one  can 
avoid  what  is  to  come,  and,  indeed,  it  is  commonly  useless 
to  know  it ;  for  it  is  a  miserable  case  to  be  afflicted  to  no 
purpose,  and  not  to  have  even  the  last,  the  common  com- 

'■  Some  passages  of  tlie  original  are  here  wanting.  Cotta  continues 
speaking  against  the  doctrine  of  the  Stoics. 


THE  NATURE   OF  THE  GODS.  323 

fort,  hope,  which,  according  to  your  principles,  none  can 
have;  for  you  say  that  fate  governs  all  things,  and  call 
that  fate  which  has  been  true  from  all  eternity.  What 
advantage,  then,  is  the  knowledge  of  futurity  to  us,  or  how 
does  it  assist  us  to  guard  against  impending  evils,  since  it 
will  come  inevitably? 

But  whence  comes  that  divination?  To  whom  is  owing 
that  knowledge  from  the  entrails  of  beasts?  Who  first 
made  observations  from  the  voice  of  the  crow?  Who 
invented  the  Lots  ?^  Not  that  I  give  no  credit  to  these 
things,  or  that  I  despise  Attius  Navius's  staff,  which  you 
mentioned ;  but  I  ought  to  be  informed  how  these  things 
are  understood  by  philosophers,  especially  as  the  diviners 
are  often  wrong  in  their  conjectures.  But  physicians,  you 
say,  are  likewise  often  mistaken.  What  comparison  can 
there  be  between  divination,  of  the  origin  of  which  we  are 
ignorant,  and  physic,  which  proceeds  on  principles  intel- 
ligible to  every  one?  You  believe  that  the  Decii,^  in  de- 
voting themselves  to  death,  appeased  the  Gods.  How 
great,  then,  was  the  iniquity  of  the  Gods  that  they  could 
not  be  appeased  but  at  the  price  of  such  noble  blood ! 
That  was  the  stratagem  of  generals  such  as  the  Greeks 
call  (TTparriyrji^a,  and  it  was  a  stratagem  worthy  such  illus- 
trious leaders,  who  consulted  the  public  good  even  at  the 
expense  of  their  lives :  they  conceived  rightly,  what  indeed 
happened,  that  if  the  general  rode  furiously  upon  the  ene- 
my, the  whole  army  would  follow  his  example.  As  to  the 
voice  of  the  Fauns,  I  never  heard  it.  If  you  assure  me 
that  you  have,  I  shall  believe  you,  though  I  really  know 
not  what  a  Faun  is. 

VII.  I  do  not,  then,  O  Balbus,  from  anything  that  you 
have  said,  perceive  as  yet  that  it  is  proved  that  there  are 
Gods.  I  believe  it,  indeed,  but  not  from  any  arguments  of 
the  Stoics.  Cleanthes,  you  have  said,  attributes  the  idea 
that  men  have  of  the  Gods  to  four  causes.  In  the  first 
place  (as  I  have  already  sufficiently  mentioned),  to  a  fore- 

'  The  Mord  sortes  is  often  used  for  the  answers  of  the  oracles,  or, 
rather,  for  the  rolls  in  which  the  answers  were  written. 

'  Three  of  this  eminent  family  sacrificed  themselves  for  their  country ; 
the  father  in  the  Latin  war,  the  son  in  the  Tuscan  war,  and  the  grandson 
in  the  war  witli  Pyrrhns. 


324        THE  NATUKE  OF  THE  GODS. 

knowledge  of  future  events;  secondly,  to  tempests,  and 
other  shocks  of  nature ;  thirdly,  to  the  utility  and  plenty 
of  things  we  enjoy ;  fourthly,  to  the  invariable  order  of  the 
stars  and  the  heavens.  The  arguments  drawn  from  fore- 
knowledge I  have  already  answered.  With  regard  to  tem- 
pests in  the  air,  the  sea,  and  the  earth,  I  own  that  many 
people  are  affrighted  by  them,  and  imagine  that  the  im- 
mortal Gods  are  the  authors  of  them. 

But  the  question  is,  not  whether  there  are  people  who 
believe  that  there  are  Gods,  but  whether  there  are  Gods 
or  not.  As  to  the  two  other  causes  of  Clean thes,  one  of 
which  is  derived  from  the  great  abundance  of  desirable 
things  which  we  enjoy,  the  other  from  the  invariable  or- 
der of  the  seasons  and  the  heavens,  I  shall  treat  on  them 
when  I  answer  your  discourse  concerning  the  providence 
of  the  Gods — a  point,  Balbus,  upon  which  you  have  spoken 
at  great  length.  I  shall  likewise  defer  till  then  examining 
the  argument  which  you  attribute  to  Chrysippus,  that  "if 
there  is  in  nature  anything  which  surpasses  the  power  of 
man  to  produce,  there  must  consequently  be  some  being 
better  than  man."  I  shall  also  postpone,  till  we  come  to 
that  part  of  my  argument,  your  comparison  of  the  world 
to  a  fine  house,  your  observations  on  the  proportion  and 
harmony  of  the  universe,  and  those  smart,  short  reasons  of 
Zeno  which  you  quote;  and  I  shall  examine  at  the  same 
time  your  reasons  drawn  from  natural  philosophy,  con- 
cerning that  fiery  force  and  that  vital  heat  which  you  re- 
gard as  the  principle  of  all  things ;  and  I  will  investigate, 
in  its  proper  place,  all  that  you  advanced  the  other  day 
on  the  existence  of  the  Gods,  and  on  the  sense  and  under- 
standing which  you  attributed  to  the  sun,  the  moon,  and 
all  the  stars ;  and  I  shall  ask  you  this  question  over  and 
over  again,  By  what  proofs  are  you  convinced  yourself 
there  are  Gods? 

VIII.  I  thought,  says  Balbus,  that  I  had  brought  ample 
proofs  to  establish  this  point.  But  such  is  your  manner 
of  opposing,  tliat,  when  you  seem  on  the  point  of  interro- 
gating me,  and  when  I  am  preparing  to  answer,  you  sud- 
denly divert  the  discourse,  and  give  me  no  opportunity  to 
reply  to  you;  and  thus  those  most  important  points  con- 
cerninG:  divination  and  fate  are  neurlectcd  which  we  Stoics 


THE  NATUIIE  OF  THE  GODS.  325 

have  thoroughly  examined,  but  which  yonr  school  has  only 
slightly  touched  upon.  But  they  are  not  thought  essen- 
tial to  tlie  question  in  hand;  therefore, if  you  think  prop- 
er, do  not  confuse  them  together,  that  we  in  this  discus- 
sion may  come  to  a  clear  explanation  of  the  subject  of  our 
present  inquiry. 

Very  well,  says  Cotta.  Since,  then,  you  have  divided 
the  whole  question  into  four  parts,  and  I  have  said  all  that 
I  had  to  say  on  the  first,  I  will  take  the  second  into  consid- 
eration ;  in  which,  when  you  attempted  to  show  what  the 
character  of  the  Gods  was,  you  seemed  to  me  rather  to 
prove  that  there  are  none;  for  you  said  that  it  was  the 
greatest  difficulty  to  draw  our  minds  from  the  preposses- 
'sions  of  the  eyes;  but  that  as  nothing  is  more  excellent 
than  the  Deity,  you  did  not  doubt  that  the  world  was  God, 
because  there  is  nothing  better  in  nature  than  the  world, 
and  so  we  may  reasonably  think  it  animated,  or,  rather, 
perceive  it  in  our  minds  as  clearly  as  if  it  were  obvious  to 
our  eyes. 

Now,  in  what  sense  do  you  say  there  is  nothing  better 
than  the  world  ?  If  you  mean  that  tliere  is  nothing  more 
beautiful,  I  agree  with  you;  that  there  is  nothing  more 
adapted  to  our  wants,  I  likewise  agree  with  you :  but  if 
you  mean  that  nothing  is  wiser  than  the  world,  I  am  by 
no  means  of  your  opinion.  Not  that  I  find  it  difficult  to 
conceive  anything  in  my  mind  independent  of  my  eyes ; 
on  the  contrary,  the  more  I  separate  my  mind  from  my 
eyes,  the  less  I  am  able  to  comprehend  your  opinion. 

IX.  Nothing  is  better  than  the  world,  you  say.  Nor 
is  there,  indeed,  anything  on  earth  better  than  the  city  of 
Rome;  do  you  think,  therefore, that  our  city  has  a  mind; 
that  it  thinks  and  reasons ;  or  that  this  most  beautiful  city, 
being  void  of  sense,  is  not  preferable  to  an  ant,  because  an 
ant  has  sense,  understanding,  reason,  and  memory  ?  You 
should  consider,  Balbus,  what  ought  to  be  allowed  you,  and 
not  advance  things  because  they  please  you. 

For  that  old,  concise,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  you,  acute  syl- 
logism of  Zeno  has  been  all  which  you  have  so  much  en- 
larged upon  in  handling  this  topic:  "That  which  reasons 
is  superior  to  that  which  does  not ;  nothing  is  superior  to 
the  world ;   therefore  the  world   Reasons."     If  you  would 


326        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

prove  also  that  tlie  world  can  very  well  read  a  book,  fol- 
low the  example  of  Zeno,  and  say, "  That  which  can  read 
is  better  than  that  which  cannot;  nothing  is  better  than 
the  world  ;  the  world  therefore  cnn  read."  After  the  same 
manner  you  may  prove  the  world  to  be  an  orator,  a  mathe- 
matician, a  musician  —  that  it  possesses  all  sciences,  and, 
in  short,  is  a  philosopher.  You  have  often  said  that  God 
made  all  things,  and  that  no  cause  can  produce  an  effect 
unlike  itself.  From  hence  it  will  follow,  not  only  that  the 
world  is  animated,  and  is  wise,  but  also  plays  upon  the  fid- 
dle and  the  flute,  because  it  produces  men  who  play  on 
those  instruments.  Zeno,  therefore,  tlie  chief  of  your  sect, 
advances  no  argument  sufiicient  to  induce  us  to  think  that 
the  world  reasons,  or,  indeed,  that  it  is  animated  at  all,  and 
consequently  none  to  think  it  a  Deity;  though  it  may  be 
said  that  there  is  nothing  superior  to  it,  as  there  is  noth- 
ing more  beautiful,  nothing  more  useful  to  us,  nothing 
more  adorned,  and  nothing  more  regular  in  its  motions. 
But  if  the  world,  considered  as  one  great  whole,  is  not  God, 
you  should  not  surely  deify,  as  you  have  done,  that  infinite 
multitude  of  stars  which  only  form  a  part  of  it,  and  which 
so  delight  you  with  the  regularity  of  their  eternal  courses; 
not  but  that  there  is  something  truly  wonderful  and  in- 
credible in  their  regularity;  but  this  regularity  of  mo- 
tion, Balbus,  may  as  well  be  ascribed  to  a  natural  as  to  a 
divine  cause. 

X.  What  can  be  more  regular  than  the  flux  and  reflux 
of  the  Euripus  at  Chalcis,  the  Sicilian  sea,  and  the  violence 
of  the  ocean  in  those  parts^ 

•wliere  the  rapid  tide 
Does  Europe  from  the  Libyan  coast  divide  ? 

The  same  appears  on  the  Spanish  and  British^  coasts. 
Must  we  conclude  that  some  Deity  appoints  and  directs 
these  ebbings  and  flowings  to  certain  fixed  times?  Con- 
sider, I  pray,  if  everything  which  is  regular  in  its  motion 
is  deemed  divine,  whether  it  will  not  follow  that  tertian 
and  quartan  agues  must  likewise  be  so,  as  their  returns 
have  the  greatest  regularity.  These  effects  are  to  be  ex- 
l)lained  by  reason ;  but,  because  you  are  unable  to  assign 
any,  you  have  recourse  to  a  Deity  as  your  last  refuge. 
'  The  Straits  of  Gibraltar. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  327 

The  arguments  of  Chrysippus  appeared  to  you  of  great' 
weight;  a  man  undoubtedly  of  great  quickness  and  sub- 
tlety (I  call  those  quick  who  have  a  sprightly  turn  of 
thought,  and  those  subtle  whose  minds  are  seasoned  by  use 
as  their  hands  are  by  labor) :  "  If,"  says  he,  "  there  is  any- 
thing which  is  beyond  the  power  of  man  to  produce,  the 
being  who  produces  it  is  better  than  man.  Man  is  unable 
to  make  Avhat  is  in  the  world ;  the  being,  therefore,  that 
could  do  it  is  superior  to  man.  What  being  is  there  but 
a  God  superior  to  man?     Therefore  there  is  a  God." 

These  arguments  are  founded  on  the  same  erroneous 
principles  as  Zeno's,  for  he  does  not  define  what  is  meant 
by  being  better  or  more  excellent,  or  distinguish  between 
an  intelligent  cause  and  a  natural  cause.  Chrysippus  adds, 
"If  there  are  no  Gods,  there  is  nothing  better  than  man; 
but  we  cannot,  without  the  highest  arrogance,  have  this 
idea  of  ourselves."  Let  us  grant  that  it  is  arrogance  in 
man  to  think  himself  better  than  the  world ;  but  to  com- 
prehend that  he  has  understanding  and  reason,  and  that  in 
Orion  and  Canicula  there  is  neither,  is  no  arrogance,  but 
an  indication  of  good  sense.  "  Since  we  suppose,"  contin- 
ues he,  "  when  we  see  a  beautiful  house,  that  it  was  built 
for  the  master,  and  not  for  mice,  we  should  likewise  judge 
that  the  world  is  the  mansion  of  the  Gods."  Yes,  if  I  be- 
lieved that  the  Gods  built  the  world ;  but  not  if,  as  I  be- 
lieve, and  intend  to  prove,  it  is  the  work  of  nature. 

XI.  Socrates,  in  Xenophon,  asks, "  Whence  had  man  his 
understanding,  if  there  was  none  in  the  world?"  And  I 
ask.  Whence  had  we  speech,  harmony,  singing;  unless  we 
think  it  is  the  sun  conversing  with  the  moon  when  she  ap- 
proaches near  it,  or  that  the  world  forms  an  harmonious 
concert,  as  Pythagoras  imagines?  This,  Balbus,  is  the  ef- 
fect of  nature;, not  of  that  nature  which  proceeds  artifi- 
cially, as  Zcno  says,  and  the  character  of  which  I  shall 
presently  examine  into,  but  a  nature  which,  by  its  own 
proper  motions  and  mutations,  modifies  everything. 

For  I  readily  agree  to  what  you  said  about  the  harmony 
and  general  agreement  of  nature,  which  you  pronounced 
to  be  firmly  bound  and  united  together,  as  it  were,  by  ties 
of  blood;  but  I  do  not  approve  of  what  you  added,  that 
"  it  could  not  possibly  be  so,  unless  it  were  so  united  by 


328        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

one  divine  spirit."  On  tlio  contrary,  the  whole  subsists 
by  the  power  of  nature,  independently  of  the  Gods,  and 
there  is  a  kind  of  sympathy  (as  the  Greeks  call  it)  which 
joins  together  all  the  parts  of  the  universe ;  and  the  greater 
that  is  in  its  own  power,  the  less  is  it  necessary  to  have 
recourse  to  a  divine  intelligence. 

XII.  But  how  will  you  get  rid  of  the  objections  which 
Carneades  made  ?  "  If,"  says  he, "  there  is  no  body  immor- 
tal, there  is  none  eternal ;  but  there  is  no  body  immortal, 
nor  even  indivisible,  or  that  cannot  be  separated  and  dis- 
united ;  and  as  every  animal  is  in  its  nature  passive,  so  there 
is  not  one  which  is  not  subject  to  the  impressions  of  ex- 
traneous bodies;  none, that  is  to  say,  which  can  avoid  the 
necessity  of  enduring  and  suffering:  and  if  every  animal 
is  mortal,  there  is  none  immortal;  so,  likewise,  if  every  an- 
imal may  be  cut  up  and  divided,  there  is  none  indivisible, 
none  eternal,  but  all  are  liable  to  be  affected  by,  and  com- 
pelled to  submit  to,  external  power.  Every  animal,  there- 
fore, is  necessarily  mortal,  dissoluble,  and  divisible." 

For  as  there  is  no  wax,  no  silver,  no  brass  which  cannot 
be  converted  into  something  else,  whatever  is  composed 
of  wax,  or  silver,  or  brass  may  cease  to  be  what  it  is.  By 
the  same  reason,  if  all  the  elements  are  mutable,  every  body 
is  mutable. 

Now,  according  to  your  doctrine,  all  the  elements  are 
mutable;  all  bodies,  therefore,  are  mutable.  But  if  there 
were  any  body  immortal,  then  all  bodies  would  not  be 
mutable.  Every  body,  then,  is  mortal;  for  every  body  is 
either  water,  air,  fire,  or  earth,  or  composed  of  the  four 
elements  together,  or  of  some  of  them.  Now,  there  is  not 
one  of  all  these  elements  that  does  not  perish ;  for  earthly 
bodies  are  fragile :  water  is  so  soft  that  the  least  shock 
will  separate  its  parts,  and  fire  and  air  yield  to  the  least 
impulse,  and  are  subject  to  dissolution  ;  besides,  any  of 
these  elements  perish  when  converted  into  another  nature, 
as  when  water  is  formed  from  earth,  the  air  from  water, 
and  the  sky  from  air,  and  when  they  change  in  the  same 
manner  back  again.  Therefore,  if  there  is  nothing  but 
what  is  perishable  in  the  composition  of  all  animals,  there 
is  no  animal  eternal. 

XIII.  But,  not  to  insist  on  these  arguments,  there  is  no 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE   GODS.  329 

animal  to  be  found  tliat  had  not  a  beginning,  and  will  not 
have  an  end ;  for  every  animal  being  sensitive,  they  are 
consequently  all  sensible  of  cold  and  heat,  sweet  and  bit- 
ter; nor  can  they  have  pleasing  sensations  without  being 
subject  to  the  contrary.  As,  therefore,  they  receive  pleas- 
ure, they  likewise  receive  pain;  and  whatever  being  is 
subject  to  pain  must  necessarily  be  subject  to  death.  It 
must  be  allowed,  therefore,  that  every  animal  is  mortal. 

Besides,  a  being  that  is  not  sensible  of  pleasure  or  pain 
cannot  have  the  essence  of  nn  animal ;  if,  then,  on  the  one 
hand,  every  animal  must  be  sensible  of  pleasure  and  pain, 
and  if,  on  the  other,  every  being  that  has  these  sensations 
cannot  be  immortal,  we  may  conclude  that  as  there  is  no 
animal  insensible,  there  is  none  immortal.  Besides,  there 
is  no  animal  without  inclination  and  aversion — an  inclina- 
tion to  that  which  is  agreeable  to  nature,  and  an  aversion 
to  the  contrary :  there  are  in  the  case  of  every  animal 
some  things  which  they  covet,  and  others  they  reject. 
What  they  reject  are  repugnant  to  their  nature,  and  con- 
sequently would  destroy  them.  Every  animal,  therefore, 
is  inevitably  subject  to  be  destroyed.  There  are  innu- 
merable arguments  to  prove  that  whatever  is  sensitive  is 
perishable ;  for  cold,  heat,  pleasure,  pain,  and  all  that  af- 
fects the  sense,  when  they  become  excessive,  cause  de- 
struction. Since,  then,  there  is  no  animal  that  is  not  sen- 
sitive, there  is  none  immortal. 

XIV.  The  substance  of  an  animal  is  either  simple  or 
compound  ;  simple,  if  it  is  composed  only  of  earth,  of  fire, 
of  air,  or  of  water  (and  of  such  a  sort  of  being  we  can 
form  no  idea) ;  compound,  if  it  is  formed  of  different  ele- 
ments, which  have  each  their  proper  situation,  and  have  a 
natural  tendency  to  it — this  element  tending  towards  the 
highest  parts,  that  towards  the  lowest,  and  another  tow- 
ards the  middle.  This  conjunction  may  for  some  time 
subsist,  but  not  forever ;  ior  every  element  must  return  to 
its  first  situation.     No  animal,  therefore,  is  eternal. 

But  your  school,  Balbus,  allows  fire  only  to  be  the  sole 
active  principle ;  an  opinion  which  I  believe  you  derive 
from  Heraclitus,  whom  some  men  understand  in  one  sense, 
some  in  another :  but  since  he  seems  unwilling  to  be  un- 
derstood, we  will  pass  him  by.     You  Stoics,  then,  say  that 


330        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

fire  is  the  universal  principle  of  all  things;  that  all  living 
bodies  cease  to  live  on  the  extinction  of  that  heat;  and 
that  throughout  all  nature  whatever  is  sensible  of  that 
lieat  lives  and  flonrishes.  Now,  I  cannot  conceive  that 
bodies  should  perish  for  want  of  heat,  rather  than  for 
want  of  moisture  or  air,  especially  as  they  even  die 
tiirongh  excess  of  heat;  so  that  the  life  of  animals  does 
not  depend  more  on  fire  than  on  the  other  elements. 

However,  air  and  water  have  this  quality  in  common 
with  fire  and  heat.  But  let  us  see  to  w^hat  this  tends.  If 
I  am  not  mistaken,  you  believe  that  in  all  nature  there  is 
notliing  but  fire,  which  is  self-animated.  Why  fire  rather 
tlian  air,  of  which  the  life  of  animals  consists,  and  which  is 
called  from  thence  anima,^  the  soul?  But  how  is  it  that 
you  take  it  for  granted  that  life  is  nothing  but  fire  ?  It 
seems  more  probable  that  it  is  a  compound  of  fire  and 
air.  But  if  fire  is  self-animated,  unmixed  with  any  other 
element,  it  must  be  sensitive,  because  it  renders  our  bodies 
sensitive;  and  the  same  objection  which  I  just  now  made 
will  arise,  that  whatever  is  sensitive  must  necessarily  be 
susceptible  of  pleasure  and  pain,  and  whatever  is  sensible 
of  pain  is  likewise  subject  to  the  approach  of  death ; 
tliorefore  you  cannot  prove  fire  to  be  eternal. 

You  Stoics  hold  that  all  fire  has  need  of  nourishment, 
without  which  it  cannot  possibly  subsist;  that  the  sun, 
moon,  and  all  the  stars  are  fed  cither  with  fresii  or  salt 
waters ;  and  the  reason  that  Cleanthes  gives  why  the  sun 
is  retrograde,  and  does  not  go  beyond  the  tropics  in  the 
summer  or  winter,  is  that  he  may  not  be  too  far  from  his 
sustenance.  This  I  shall  fully  examine  hereafter;  but  at 
present  we  may  conclude  that  whatever  may  cease  to  be 
cannot  of  its  own  nature  be  eternal;  that  if  fire  wants  sus- 
tenance, it  will  cease  to  be,  and  that,  therefore,  fire  is  not 
of  its  own  nature  eternal. 

XV.  After  all,  what  kind  of  a  Deity  must  that  be  who 

'  The  common  reading  is,  ex  quo  anima  dicitur ;  but  Dr.  Davis  and 
M,  Bouhier  prefer  animal,  though  they  keep  anima  m  tlie  text,  be- 
cause our  author  says  elsewhere,  animum  ex  anima  dictum,  Tusc.  1.  1. 
Cicero  is  not  here  to  be  accused  of  contradictions,  for  we  are  to  consider 
tliat  he  speaks  in  tlie  characters  of  other  ])ersons  ;  but  there  appears  to 
be  notliing  in  these  two  passages  irrcconcihible,  and  probably  anima  is 
the  right  word  here. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE   GODS.  331 

is  not  graced  with  one  single  virtue,  if  we  should  succeed 
in  forniing  this  idea  of  such  a  one?  Must  Ave  not  attrib- 
ute prudence  to  a  Deity?  a  virtue  which  consists  in  the 
knowledge  of  things  good,  bad,  and  indifferent.  Yet 
what  need  has  a  being  for  the  discernment  of  good  and 
ill  who  neither  has  nor  can  have  any  ill?  Of  what  use  is 
reason  to  him?  of  what  use  is  understanding?  We  men, 
indeed,  find  them  useful  to  aid  us  in  finding  out  things 
which  are  obscure  by  those  which  are  clear  to  us;  but 
nothing  can  be  obscure  to  a  Deity.  As  to  justice,  which 
gives  to  every  one  his  own,  it  is  not  the  concern  of  the 
Gods ;  since  that  virtue,  according  to  your  doctrine,  re- 
ceived its  birth  from  men  and  from  civil  society.  Tem- 
perance consists  in  abstinence  from  corporeal  pleasures, 
and  if  such  abstinence  hath  a  place  in  heaven,  so  also 
must  the  pleasures  abstained  from.  Lastly,  if  fortitude  is 
ascribed  to  the  Deity,  how  does  it  appear  ?  In  afflictions, 
in  labor,  in  danger?  None  of  these  things  can  affect  a 
God.  How",  then,  can  we  conceive  this  to  be  a  Deity  that 
makes  no  use  of  reason,  and  is  not  endowed  with  any  virtue? 

However,  when  I  consider  what  is  advanced  by  the 
Stoics,  my  contempt  for  the  ignorant  multitude  vanishes. 
For  these  are  their  divinities.  The  Syrians  worshipped  a 
fish.  The  Egyptians  consecrated  beasts  of  almost  every 
kind.  The  Greeks  deified  many  men ;  as  Alabandus^  at 
Alabanda?,  Tenes  at  Tenedos ;  and  all  Greece  pay  divine 
honors  to  Lcucothea  (who  was  before  called  Ino),  to  her 
son  Palaemon,  to  Hercules,  to  JEsculapius,  and  to  the  Tyn- 
darid93 ;  our  own  people  to  Romulus,  and  to  many  oth- 
ers, who,  as  citizens  newly  admitted  into  the  ancient  body, 
they  imagine  have  been  received  into  heaven. 

These  are  the  Gods  of  the  illiterate. 

XVI.  What  are  the  notions  of  you  philosophers  ?  In 
what  respect  are  they  superior  to  these  ideas?  I  shall 
pass  them  over;  for  they  are  certainly  very  admirable. 
Let  the  world,  then,  be  a  Deity,  for  that,  I  conceive,  is 
what  you  mean  by 

The  refulgent  lieaven  above, 
Which  all  men  call,  unanimously,  Jove. 

^  He  is  snid  to  have  led  a  colony  from  Greece  into  Caria,  in  Asia,  and 
to  have  built  a  town,  and  called  it  after  his  own  name,  for  which  his 
countrymen  paid  him  divine  honors  after  his  death. 


332         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

But  Avby  are  we  to  add  many  more  Gods?  What  a 
multitude  of  them  there  is !  At  least,  it  seems  so  to  me; 
for  every  constellation,  according  to  you,  is  a  Deity :  to 
some  you  give  the  name  of  beasts,  as  the  goat,  the  scor- 
pion, the  bull,  the  lion ;  to  others  the  names  of  inanimate 
things,  as  the  ship,  the  altar,  the  crown. 

But  supposing  these  were  to  be  allowed,  how  can  the 
rest  be  granted,  or  even  so  much  as  understood  ?  When 
we  call  corn  Ceres,  and  wine  Bacchus,  we  make  use  of  the 
common  manner  of  speaking;  but  do  you  think  any  one 
so  mad  as  to  believe  that  his  food  is  a  Deity?  With  re- 
gard to  those  who,  you  say,  from  having  been  men  became 
Gods,  I  should  be  very  willing  to  learn  of  you,  either  how 
it  was  possible  formerly,  or,  if  it  had  ever  been,  why  is  it 
not  so  now?  I  do  not  conceive,  as  things  are  at  present, 
liow  Hercules, 

Burn'd  with  fiery  torches  on  Mount  CEta, 
as  Accius  says,  should  rise,  with  the  flames. 
To  the  eternal  mansions  of  his  father. 

Besides,  Homer  also  says  that  Ulysses^  met  him  in  the 
shades  below,  among  the  other  dead. 

But  yet  I  should  be  glad  to  know  which  Hercules  we 
should  chiefly  worship ;  for  they  who  have  searched  into 
those  histories,  which  are  but  little  known,  tell  us  of  sev- 
eral. The  most  ancient  is  he  who  fought  with  Apollo 
about  the  Tripos  of  Delphi,  and  is  son  of  Jupiter  and 
Lisyto ;  and  of  the  most  ancient  Jupiters  too,  for  we  find 
many  Jupiters  also  in  the  Grecian  clironicles.  The  second 
is  the  Egyptian  Hercules,  and  is  believed  to  be  the  son  of 
Nilus,  and  to  be  the  author  of  the  Phrygian  characters. 
The  third,  to  whom  they  offered  sacrifices,  is  one  of  the 

^  Onr  great  author  is  under  a  mistake  here.  Homer  does  not  say  he 
met  Hercules  himself,  but  his  Ei6cj?iov,  his  "visionary  likeness;"  and 
adds  that  he  himself 

^ict'  uOavdroicTi  OeoXai 
T^pircTai  ev  flaAiryr,  Ka't  fc'xc  KaWi(r(pvpov"li/3t}v, 
irai6a  A169  /jLeyc'iAoto  Ka'i  "llpnv  xP^'^oneSiXov' 

which  Pope  translates — 

A  shadowy  form,  for  high  in  heaven's  abodes 
Himself  resides,  a  God  amonj?  the  Gods; 
There,  in  the  bright  assemblies  of  the  skies, 
He  nectar  quafiTs,  and  Ilebe  crowns  his  joys. 


THE  NATUKE  OF  THE  GODS.  333 

Idaei  Dactyli/  The  fourth  is  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Aste- 
ria,  the  sister  of  Latona,  chiefly  honored  by  the  Tyrians, 
who  pretend  that  Carthago'^  is  his  daugliter.  The  fifth, 
called  Beluo,  is  worshipped  in  India.  The  sixth  is  the 
son  of  Alcmena  by  Jupiter;  but  by  the  third  Jupiter,  for 
there  are  many  Jupiters,  as  you  shall  soon  see. 

XVII.  Since  this  examination  has  led  me  so  far,  I  will 
convince  you  that  in  matters  of  religion  I  have  learned 
more  from  the  pontifical  rites,  the  customs  of  our  ances- 
tors, and  the  vessels  of  Numa,^  which  La3lius  mentions  in 
his  little  Golden  Oration,  than  from  all  the  learning  of  the 
Stoics;  for  tell  me,  if  I  were  a  disciple  of  your  school, 
what  answer  could  I  make  to  these  questions?  If  there 
are  Gods,  are  nymphs  also  Goddesses?  If  they  are  God- 
desses, are  Pans  and  Satyrs  in  the  same  rank  ?  But  they 
are  not;  consequently,  nymphs  are  not  Goddesses.  Yet 
they  have  temples  publicly  dedicated  to  them.  What  do 
you  conclude  from  thence?  Others  who  have  temples 
arc  not  therefore  G'ods.  But  let  us  go  on.  You  call 
Jupiter  and  Neptune  Gods;  their  brother  Pluto,  then,  is 
one;  and  if  so,  those  rivers  also  are  Deities  which  they 
say  flow  in  the  infernal  regions — Acheron,  Cocytus,  Pyri- 
phlegethon ;  Charon  also,  and  Cerberus,  are  Gods ;  but 
that  cannot  be  allowed ;  nor  can  Pluto  be  placed  among 
the  Deities.     What,  then,  will  you  say  of  his  brothers? 

Thus  reasons  Carneades ;  not  with  any  design  to  de- 
stroy the  existence  of  the  Gods  (for  what  would  less  be- 
come a  philosopher?),  but  to  convince  us  that  on  that 
matter  the  Stoics  have  said  nothing  plausible.  If,  then, 
Jupiter  and  Neptune  are  Gods,  adds  he,  can  that  divinity 
be  denied  to  their  father  Saturn,  w4io  is  principally  wor- 
shipped throughout  the  West?  If  Saturn  is  a  God,  then 
must  his  father,  Coelus,  be  one  too,  and  so  must  the  par- 
ents of  Coelus,  which  are  the  Sky  and  Day,  as  also  their 
brothers  and   sisters,  which   by  ancient  genealogists  are 

^  They  arc  said  to  have  been  the  first  workers  in  iron.  They  were 
called  Idaji,  because  they  inhabited  about  Mount  Ida  in  Crete,  and 
Dactyli,  from  6dKTi'?Mi  (the  fingers),  tlieir  number  being  five. 

^  From  whom,  some  sny,  the  city  of  that  name  was  called. 

'  Capedunculre  seem  to  have  been  bowls  or  cups,  with  handles  on  each 
side,  set  apart  for  the  use  of  the  altar.. — Davis. 


334         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

thus  named:  Love,  Deceit,  Fear,  Labor,  Envy,  Fate,  Old 
Age,  Death,  Darkness,  Misery,  Lamentation,  Favor,  Fraud, 
Obstinacy,  tlie  Destinies,  the  Ilesperides,  and  Dreams ;  all 
which  are  the  offspring  of  Erebus  and  Night.  These 
monstrous  Deities,  therefore,  must  be  received,  or  else 
those  from  whom  they  sprung  must  be  disallowed. 

XVIIL  If  you  say  that  Apollo,  Vulcan,  Mercury,  and 
the  rest  of  that  sort  are  Gods,  can  you  doubt  the  divinity 
of  Hercules  and  ^sculapius,  Bacchus,  Castor  and  Pollux  ? 
These  are  worshipped  as  much  as  those,  and  even  more 
in  some  places.  Therefore  they  must  be  numbered  among 
the  Gods,  tliough  on  the  mother's  side  they  are  only  of 
mortal  race.  Aristseus,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  son 
of  Apollo,  and  to  have  found  out  the  art  of  making  oil 
from  the  olive;  Theseus,  the  son  of  Neptune;  and  the 
rest  whose  fathers  were  Deities,  shall  they  not  be  placed 
in  the  number  of  the  Gods?  But  Avhat  think  you  of 
those  whose  mothers  were  Goddesses?  They  surely  have 
a  better  title  to  divinity ;  for,  in  thcT  civil  law,  as  he  is  a 
freeman  who  is  born  of  a  freewoman,  so,  in  the  law  of 
nature,  he  whose  mother  is  a  Goddess  must  be  a  God. 
The  isle  Astypalaja  religiously  honor  Achilles ;  and  if  ho 
is  a  Deity,  Orpheus  and  Rhesus  are  so,  who  were  born  of 
one  of  the  Muses;  unless,  perhaps,  there  may  be  a  privi- 
lege belonging  to  sea  marriages  which  land  marriages 
have  not.  Orpheus  and  Rhesus  are  nowhere  worshipped; 
and  if  they  are  therefore  not  Gods,  because  they  are  no- 
where worshipped  as  such,  how  can  the  others  be  Deities? 
You,  Balbus,  seemed  to  agree  with  me  that  the  honors 
which  they  received  were  not  from  their  being  regarded 
as  immortals,  but  as  men  richly  endued  with  virtue. 

But  if  you  think  Latona  a  Goddess,  how  can  you  avoid 
admitting  llecate  to  be  one  also,  who  was  the  daughter  of 
Asteria,  Latona's  sister  ?  Certainly  she  is  one,  if  we  may 
judge  by  the  altai-s  erected  to  her  in  Greece.  And  if  Hec- 
ate is  a  Goddess,  liow  can  you  refuse  that  rank  to  the 
Eumenides?  for  they  also  have  a  temple  at  Athens,  and, 
if  I  understand  right,  the  Romans  have  consecrated  a  grove 
to  them.  The  Furies,  too,  whom  we  look  upon  as  the  in- 
spectors into  and  scourges  of  impiety,  I  sui)pose,  must  have 
their  divinity  too.    As  you  hold  that  there  is  some  divinity 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  335 

presides  over  every  human  affair,  there  is  one  who  presides 
over  the  travail  of  matrons,  whos3  name,  iV«^io,  is  derived 
a  7iascentibiis,  from  nativities,  and  to  whom  we  used  to 
sacrifice  in  our  processions  in  the  fields  of  Ardiea;  but  if 
she  is  a  Deity,  we  must  likewise  acknowledge  all  those  you 
mentioned,  Honor,  Faith,  Intellect,  Concord  ;  by  the  same 
rule  also,  Hope,  Juno,  Moneta,'  and  every  idle  phantoiii, 
every  child  of  our  imagination,  are  Deities.  But  as  this 
consequence  is  quite  inadmissible,  do  not  you  either  de- 
fend the  cause  from  which  it  flows. 

XIX.  AVhat  say  you  to  this?  If  these  are  Deities, 
which  we  worship  and  regard  as  such,  why  are  not  Sera- 
pis  and  Isis^  placed  in  the  same  rank?  And  if  they  are 
admitted,  what  reason  have  we  to  reject  the  Gods  of  the 
barbarians?  Thus  we  should  deify  oxen,  horses,  the  ibis, 
hawks,  asps,  crocodiles,  fishes,  dogs,  wolves,  cats,  and  many 
other  beasts.  If  we  go  back  to  the  source  of  this  super- 
stition, Ave  must  equally  condemn  all  the  Deities  from 
which  they  proceed.  Shall  Ino,  whom  the  Greeks  call 
Leucothea,  and  we  Matuta,  be  reputed  a  Goddess,  because 
slie  was  the  daughter  of  Cadmus,  and  shall  that  title  be  re- 
fused to  Circe  and  Pasiphae,^  who  had  the  sun  for  their  fa- 
ther, and  Perseis,  daughter  of  the  Ocean,  for  their  mother? 
It  is  true,  Circe  has  divine  honors  paid  her  by  our  colony 
of  Circoeum  ;  therefore  you  call  her  a  Goddess ;  but  what 
will  you  say  of  Medea,  the  granddaughter  of  tlie  Sun  and 
the  Ocean,  and  daughter  of  ^etes  and  Idyia?  \Yhat  will 
you  say  of  her  brother  Absyrtus,  whom  Pacuvius  calls 
iEgialeus,  though  the  other  name  is  more  frequent  in  the 
writings  of  the  ancients?  If  you  did  not  deify  one  as  well 
as  the  other,  what  will  become  of  Ino  ?  for  all  these  Deities 
liave  the  same  origin. 

Shall  Amphiaraus  and  Tryphonius  be  called  Gods  ?  Our 
publicans,  when  some  lands  in  Boeotia  were  exempted  from 
the  tax,  as  belonging  to  the  immortal  Gods,  denied  that 

^  See  Cicero  de  Divinatione,  and  Ovid.  Fast. 

^  In  tlie  consulship  of  Piso  and  Gabinius  sacrifices  to  Serapis  and  Isis 
were  prohibited  in  Rome ;  but  the  Roman  people  afterward  placed  them 
again  in  the  number  of  tlieir  gods.  See  TertuUian's  Apol.  and  his  first 
book  Ad  Nationes,  and  Arnobius,  lib.  2. — Davis. 

^  In  some  copies  Circe,  Pasiphae,  and  JEa  are  mentioned  together; 
but  JEix  is  rejected  by  the  most  judicious  editors. 


336         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

any  were  immortal  who  liad  been  men.  But  if  you  deify 
tliese,  Erechtlieus  surely  is  a  God,  whose  temple  and  priest 
we  have  seen  at  Athens.  And  can  you,  then,  refuse  to  ac- 
knowledge also  Codrus,  and  many  others  who  shed  their 
blood  for  the  preservation  of  their  country?  And  if  it  is 
not  allowable  to  consider  all  these  men  as  Gods,  then,  cer- 
tainly, probabilities  are  not  in  favor  of  our  acknowledg- 
ing the  Divinity  of  those  previously  mentioned  beings  from 
whom  these  have  proceeded. 

It  is  easy  to  observe,  likewise,  that  if  in  many  countries 
people  have  paid  divine  honors  to  the  memory  of  those 
who  have  signalized  their  courage,  it  was  done  in  order 
to  animate  otliers  to  practise  virtue,  and  to  expose  them- 
selves the  more  willingly  to  dangers  in  their  country's 
cause.  From  this  motive  the  Athenians  have  deified  Erech- 
theus  and  his  daughters,  and  have  erected  also  a  temple, 
called  Leocorion,  to  the  daughters  of  Leus.^  Alabandus 
is  more  honored  in  the  city  which  he  founded  than  any  of 
the  more  illustrious  Deities ;  from  thence  Stratonicus  had 
a  pleasant  turn — as  he  had  many — when  he  was  troubled 
with  an  impertinent  fellow  who  insisted  that  Alabandus 
was  a  God,  but  that  Hercules  was  not;  "Very  well,"  says 
he, "  then  let  the  anger  of  Alabandus  fall  upon  me,  and 
that  of  Hercules  upon  you." 

XX.  Do  you  not  consider,  Balbus,  to  what  lengths  your 
arguments  for  the  divinity  of  the  heaven  and  the  stars 
will  carry  you  ?  You  deify  the  sun  and  the  moon,  which 
the  Greeks  take  to  be  Apollo  and  Diana.  If  the  moon  is 
a  Deity,  the  morning- star,  the  other  planets,  and  all  the 
fixed  stars  are  also  Deities;  and  Avhy  shall  not  the  rain- 
bow be  placed  in  that  number?  for  it  is  so  wonderfully 
beautiful  that  it  is  justly  said  to  be  the  daughter  of  Thau- 
mas.^  But  if  you  deify  the  rainbow,  what  regard  will  you 
pay  to  the  clouds  ?  for  the  colors  which  appear  in  the  bow 
are  only  formed  of  the  clouds,  one  of  which  is  said  to  have 
brought  forth  the  Centaurs;  and  if  you  deify  the  clouds, 
you  cannot  pay  less  regard  to  the  seasons,  which  the  Ro- 
man people  have  really  consecrated.     Tempests,  show'ers, 

'  They  were  three,  and  are  said  to  liave  averted  a  plague  by  offering 
themselves  a  sacrifice. 
-  !So  called  from  the  Greek  word  Oav/ud^u,  to  wonder. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  337 

storms,  and  \?hirlwmds  must  then  be  Deities.  It  is  cer- 
tain, at  least,  that  our  captains  used  to  sacrifice  a  victim 
to  the  waves  before  they  embarked  on  any  voyas^e. 

As  you  deify  the  earth  under  the  name  of  Ceres,'  be- 
cause, as  you  said,  she  bears  fruits  {a  gerendo),  and  the 
ocean  under  that  of  Neptune,  rivers  and  fountains  have 
the  same  riglit.  Thus  we  see  that  Maso,  the  conqueror  of 
Corsica,  dedicated  a  temple  to  a  fountain,  and  the  names 
of  the  Tiber,  Spino,  Almo,  Nodinus,  and  other  neighbor- 
ing rivers  are  in  the  prayers'*  of  the  augurs.  Therefore, 
either  the  number  of  such  Deities  will  be  infinite,  or  we 
must  admit  none  of  them,  and  wholly  disapprove  of  such 
an  endless  series  of  superstition. 

XXI.  None  of  all  these  assertions,  then,  are  to  be  ad- 
mitted. I  must  proceed  now,  Balbus,  to  answer  those  who 
say  that,  with  regard  to  those  deified  mortals,  so  religious- 
ly and  devoutly  reverenced,  the  public  opinion  should  have 
the  force  of  reality.  To  begin,  then  :  they  who  are  called 
theologists  say  that  there  are  three  Jupiters;  the  first  and 
second  of  whom  were  born  in  Arcadia;  one  of  whom  was 
the  son  of  ^ther,  and  father  of  Proserpine  and  Bacchus; 
the  other  the  son  of  Coelus,  and  father  of  Minerva,  who  is 
called  the  Goddess  and  inventress  of  war;  the  third  one 
born  of  Saturn  in  the  isle  of  Crete,^  where  his  sepulchre 
is  shown.  The  sons  of  Jupiter  {^LoaKovpoi)  also,  among 
the  Greeks,  have  many  names;  first,  the  three  who  at 
Athens  have  the  title  of  Anactes,*  Tritopatreus,  Eubulcus, 
and  Dionysus,  sons  of  the  most  ancient  king  Jupiter  and 
Proserpine ;  the  next  are  Castor  and  Pollux,  sons  of  the 
third  Jupiter  and  Leda;  and,  lastly,  three  others,  by  some 
called  Alco,^  Melampus,  and  Tmolus,  sons  of  Atreus,  the 
son  of  Pelops. 

^  She  was  first  called  Geres,  from  gero,  to  bear. 

^  The  word  is  precadone,  which  means  the  books  or  forms  of  prayers 
used  by  the  augurs, 

^  Cotta's  intent  here,  as  well  as  in  other  places,  is  to  show  how  un- 
philosophical  their  civil  theology  was,  and  with  what  confusions  it  was 
embarrassed  ;  which  design  of  the  Academic  the  reader  should  carefully 
keep  in  view,  or  he  will  lose  the  chain  of  argument. 

*  Anactes,  'AvaKrec,  was  a  general  name  for  all  kings,  as  we  find  in 
the  oldest  Greek  writers,  and  particularly  in  Homer. 

*  'J'he  common  reading  is  Aleo ;  but  we  follow  Lambinus  and  Davis, 
who  had  the  authority  of  the  best  manuscript  copies. 

15 


338        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

As  to  the  Muses,  there  were  at  first  four — Thelxiope, 
Aoede,  Arche,  and  Melete — daughters  of  tlie  second  Ju])i- 
ter;  afterward  there  were  nine,  daughters  of  the  third  Ju- 
piter and  Mnemosyne ;  there  were  also  nine  others,  having 
the  same  appellations,  born  of  Pierus  aud  Antiopa,  by  the 
poets  usually  called  Pierides  and  Pierige.  Though  Sol 
(the  sun)  is  so  called,  you  say,  because  he  is  solus  (single) ; 
yet  how  many  suns  do  theologists  mention?  There  is 
one,  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  grandson  of  ^ther;  another, 
the  son  of  Hyperion ;  a  third,  Avho,  the  Egyptians  say,  was 
of  the  city  Heliopolis,  sprung  from  Vulcan,  the  son  of 
Nilus;  a  fourth  is  said  to  have  been  born  at  Rhodes  of 
Acantho,  in  the  times  of  the  heroes,  and  was  the  grandfa- 
ther of  Jalysus,  Camirus,  and  Lindus ;  a  fifth,  of  whom,  it 
is  pretended.  Aretes  nnd  Circe  were  born  at  Colchis. 

XXII.  There  are  likewise  several  Vulcans.  The  first 
(who  had  of  Minerva  that  Apollo  whom  the  ancient  his- 
torians call  the  tutelary  God  of  Athens)  was  the  son  of 
Coelus ;  the  second,  whom  the  Egyptians  call  Opas,-  and 
whom  they  looked  upon  as  the  protector  of  Egypt,  is  the 
son  of  Nilus ;  the  third,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  mas- 
ter of  the  forges  at  Lemnos,  was  the  son  of  the  third  Ju- 
piter and  of  Juno ;  the  fourth,  who  possessed  the  islands 
near  Sicily  called  VulcaniaB,"  was  the  son  of  Menalius. 
One  Mercury  had  Coelus  for  his  father  and  Dies  for  his 
mother;  another,  who  is  said  to  dwell  in  a  cavern,  and  is 
the  same  as  Trophonius,  is  the  son  of  Valens  and  Phoronis. 
A  third,  of  whom,  and  of  Penelope,  Pan  was  the  offspring, 
is  the  son  of  the  third  Jupiter  and  Maia.  A  fourth,  whom 
the  Egyptians  think  it  a  crime  to  name,  is  the  son  of  Nilus. 
A  fifth,  whom  we  call,  in  their  language,  Thoth,  as  with 
them  the  first  month  of  the  year  is  called,  is  he  whom  the 
people  of  Pheneum^  worship,  and  who  is  said  to  have  kill- 
ed Argus,  to  have  fled  for  it  into  Egypt,  and  to  have  given 
laws  and  learning  to  the  Egyptians.  The  first  of  the 
^sculapii,  the  God  of  Arcadia,  who  is  said  to  have  in- 
vented the  probe  and  to  have  been  the  first  person  who 
taught  men  to  use  bandages  for  wounds,  is  the   son  of 

'  Some  prefer  Phthas  to  Opas  (sec  Dr,  Davis's  edition) ;  but  Opns  is 
the  generally  received  reading. 

"  The  Lipari  Isles.  '  A  town  in  Arcadia. 


THE  NATUKE  OF  THE  GODS.  339 

Apollo.  The  second,  who  was  killed  with  thunder,  and  is 
said  to  be  buried  in  Cynosura,'  is  the  brother  of  the  sec- 
ond Mercury.  The  third,  who  is  said  to  have  found  out 
the  art  of  purging  the  stomach,  and  of  drawing  teeth,  is 
the  son  of  Arsippus  and  Arsinoe ;  and  in  Arcadia  there  is 
shown  his  tomb,  and  the  wood  which  is  consecrated  to 
him,  near  the  river  Lusium. 

XXIII.  I  have  already  spoken  of  the  most  ancient  of  the 
ApoUos,  who  is  the  son  of  Vulcan,  and  tutelar  God  of  Ath- 
ens. There  is  another,  son  of  Corybas,  and  native  of  Crete, 
for  which  island  he  is  said  to  have  contended  with  Jupiter 
himself.  A  third,  who  came  from  the  regions  of  the  Hy- 
perborei^  to  Delphi,  is  the  son  of  the  third  Jupiter  and  of 
Latona.  A  fourth  was  of  Arcadia,  whom  the  Arcadians 
called  Nomio,^  because  they  regarded  him  as  their  legis- 
lator. There  are  likewise  many  Dianas.  The  first,  who 
is  thought  to  be  the  mother  of  the  winged  Cupid,  is  the 
daughter  of  Jupiter  and  Proserpine.  The  second,  who  is 
more  known,  is  daughter  of  the  third  Jupiter  and  of  La- 
tona. The  third,  whom  the  Greeks  often  call  by  her  fa- 
ther's name,  is  the  daughter  of  Upis*  and  Glauce.  There 
are  many  also  of  the  Dionysi.  The  first  was  the  son  of 
Jupiter  and  Proserpine.  The  second,  who  is  said  to  have 
killed  Nysa,  was  the  son  of  Nilus.  The  third,  who  reign- 
ed in  Asia,  and  for  whom  the  Sabazia^  were  instituted,  was 
the  son  of  Caprius.  The  fourth,  for  whom  they  celebrate 
the  Orphic  festivals,  sprung  from  Jupiter  and  Luna.  The 
fifth,  Avho  is  supposed  to  have  instituted  the  Trieteridcs, 
was  the  son  of  Nysus  and  Thyone. 

The  first  Venus,  who  has  a  temple  at  Elis,  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Coehis  and  Dies.  The  second  arose  out  of  the  froth 
of  the  sea,  and  became,  by  Mercury,  the  mother  of  the  sec- 
ond Cupid.  The  third,  the  daughter  of  Jupiter  and  Di- 
ana, was  married  to  Vulcan,  but  is  said  to  have  had  An- 
teros  by  Mars.  The  fourth  was  a  Syrian,  born  of  Tyro, 
who  is  called  Astarte,  and  is  said  to  have  been  married  to 

'  In  Arcadia.  ^  A  northern  people. 

^  So  called  from  the  Greek  word  v6/iog,  lex,  a  law. 

*  He  is  called  '^Trig  in  some  old  Greek  fragments,  and  OvTrig  by  Cal- 
limachns  in  his  hymn  on  Diana. 

*  2a/3uC<oc,  Sabazius,  is  one  of  the  names  used  for  Bacchus. 


340        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Adonis.  I  have  already  mentioned  one  Minerva,  mother 
of  Apollo.  Another,  who  is  worshipped  at  Sais,  a  city  in 
Egypt,  sprung  from  Nilus.  The  third,  whom  I  have  also 
mentioned,  was  daughter  of  Jupiter.  The  fourth,  sprung 
from  Jupiter  and  Coryphe,  the  daughter  of  the  Ocean  ; 
the  Arcadians  call  her  Coria,  and  make  her  the  inventress 
of  chariots.  A  fifth,  whom  they  paint  wdth  wings  at  her 
heels,  was  daughter  of  Pallas,  and  is  said  to  have  killed  her 
father  for  endeavoring  to  violate  her  chastity.  The  first 
Cupid  is  said  to  be  the  son  of  Mercury  and  the  first  Diana ; 
the  second,  of  Mercury  and  the  second  Venus  ;  the  third, 
who  is  the  same  as  Anteros,  of  Mars  and  the  third  Venus. 

All  these  opinions  arise  from  old  stories  that  were 
spread  in  Greece ;  the  belief  in  which,  Balbus,  you  well 
know,  ought  to  be  stopped,  lest  religion  should  suffer. 
But  you  Stoics,  so  far  from  refuting  them,  even  give  them 
authority  by  the  mysterious  sense  which  you  pretend  to 
find  in  them.  Can  you,  then,  think,  after  this  plain  refuta- 
tion, that  there  is  need  to  employ  more  subtle  reasonings  ? 
But  to  return  from  this  digression. 

XXIV.  We  see  that  the  mind,  faith,  hope,  virtue,  honor, 
victory,  health,  concord,  and  things  of  such  kind,  are  purely 
natural,  and  have  nothing  of  divinity  in  them ;  for  either 
they  are  inherent  in  us,  as  the  mind,  faith,  hope,  virtue, 
and  concord  are;  or  else  they  are  to  be  desired, as  honor, 
health,  and  victory.  I  know  indeed  that  they  are  useful 
to  us,  and  see  that  statues  have  been  religiously  erected 
for  them;  but  as  to  their  divinity,  I  shall  begin  to  believe 
it  when  you  have  proved  it  for  certain.  Of  this  kind  I 
may  particularly  mention  Fortune,  which  is  allowed  to  be 
ever  inseparable  from  inconstancy  and  temerity,  which  are 
certainly  qualities  unworthy  of  a  divine  being. 

But  what  delight  do  you  take  in  the  explication  of  fa- 
bles, and  in  the  etymology  of  names? — that  Ccclus  was 
castrated  by  his  son,  and  that  Saturn  was  bound  in  chains 
by  his  son !  By  your  defence  of  these  and  such  like  fic- 
tions you  would  make  the  authors  of  them  appear  not  only 
not  to  be  madmen,  but  to  have  been  even  very  wise.  But 
the  pains  which  you  take  with  your  etymologies  deserve 
our  pity.  That  Saturn  is  so  called  because  se  saturat  an- 
jiiSj  he   is  full  of  years;   Mavors,  Mars,  because  magna 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  341 

vortity  he  brings  about  mighty  changes ;  Minerva,  because 
minuit,  she  diminishes,  or  because  miiiatur,  she  threatens ; 
Venus,  because  venit  ad  omnia,  she  comes  to  all ;  Ceres, 
a  gerenclo,  from  bearing.  How  dangerous  is  this  method  ! 
for  there  are  many  names  would  puzzle  you.  From  what 
would  you  derive  Yejupiter  and  Vulcan?  Though,  in- 
deed, if  you  can  derive  Neptune  a  riando,  from  swimming, 
in  which  you  seem  to  rae  to  flounder  about  yourself  more 
than  Neptune,  you  may  easily  find  the  origin  of  all  names, 
since  it  is  founded  only  upon  the  conformity  of  some  one 
letter.  Zeno  first,  and  after  him  Cleanthes  and  Chrysip- 
pus,  are  put  to  the  unnecessary  trouble  of  explaining  mere 
fables,  and  giving  reasons  for  the  several  appellations  of 
every  Deity ;  which  is  really  owning  that  those  whom  we 
call  Gods  are  not  the  representations  of  deities,  but  natu- 
ral things,  and  that  to  judge  otherwise  is  an  error. 

XXV.  Yet  this  error  has  so  much  prevailed  that  even 
pernicious  things  have  not  only  the  title  of  divinity  ascribed 
to  them,  but  have  also  sacrifices  offered  to  them;  for  Fe- 
ver has  a  temple  on  the  Palatine  hill,  and  Orbona  anoth- 
er near  that  of  the  Lares,  and  we  see  on  the  Esquiline  hill 
an  altar  consecrated  to  Ill-fortune.  Let  all  such  errors  bo 
banished  from  philosophy,  if  we  would  advance,  in  our  dis- 
pute concerning  the  immortal  Gods,  nothing  unworthy  of 
immortal  beings.  I  know  myself  what  I  ought  to  believe ; 
which  is  far  different  from  what  you  have  said.  You  take 
Neptune  for  an  intelligence  pervading  the  sea.  You  have 
the  same  opinion  of  Ceres  with  regard  to  the  earth.  I 
cannot,  I  own,  find  out,  or  in  the  least  conjecture, what  that 
intelligence  of  the  sea  or  the  earth  is.  To  learn,  therefore, 
the  existence  of  the  Gods,  and  of  what  description  and  char- 
acter they  are,  I  must  apply  elsewhere,  not  to  the  Stoics. 

Let  us  proceed  to  the  two  other  parts  of  our  dispute: 
first,  "whether  there  is  a  divine  providence  which  governs 
the  world ;"  and  lastly,  "  whether  that  providence  particu- 
larly regards  mankind  ;"  for  these  are  the  remaining  prop- 
ositions of  your  discourse;  and  I  think  that,  if  you  approve 
of  it,  we  should  examine  these  more  accurately.  With  all 
my  heart,  says  Velleius,  for  I  readily  agree  to  what  you 
have  hitherto  said,  and  expect  still  greater  things  from  you. 

T  am  unwilling  to  interrupt  you,  says  Balbus  to  Cotta, 


342        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

but  we  shall  take  another  opportunity,  and  I  shall  efEectu» 
ally  convince  you.     But'  *  *  * 

XXVI.   Shall  I  adore,  and  bend  the  suppliant  knee, 

Who  scorn  their  power  and  doubt  tlieir  deity  ? 

Does  not  Niobe  here  seem  to  reason,  and  by  that  rea- 
soning to  bring  all  her  misfortunes  upon  herself?  But 
what  a  subtle  expression  is  the  following ! 

On  strength  of  will  alone  depends  success ; 

a  maxim  capable  of  leading  us  into  all  that  is  bad. 

Though  I'm  confined,  his  malice  yet  is  vain, 
His  tortured  heart  shall  answer  pain  for  pain ; 
His  ruin  soothe  my  soul  with  soft  content, 
Lighten  my  chains,  and  welcome  banishment ! 

This,  now,  is  reason  ;  that  reason  which  you  say  the  di- 
vine goodness  has  denied  to  the  brute  creation,  kindly  to 
bestow  it  on  men  alone.  How  great,  how  immense  the 
favor !  Observe  the  same  Medea  flying  from  her  father 
and  her  country: 

The  guilty  wretch  from  her  pursuer  flies. 
By  her  own  hands  the  young  Absyrtus  slain, 
His  mangled  limbs  she  scatters  o'er  the  plain. 
That  tlie  fond  sire  might  sink  beneath  his  woe. 
And  she  to  parricide  her  safety  owe. 

Reflection,  as  well  as  wickedness,  must  have  been  neces- 
sary to  the  preparation  of  such  a  fact;  and  did  he  too,  who 
prepared  that  fatql  repast  for  his  brother,  do  it  without 
reflection  ? 

Revenge  as  great  as  Atreus'  injury 

Shall  sink  his  soul  and  crown  his  misery. 

XXYII.  Did  not  Thyestes  himself,  not  content  with  hav- 
ing defiled  his  brother's  bed  (of  which  Atreus  with  great 
justice  thus  complains, 

"When  faithless  comforts,  in  the  lewd  embrace, 
With  vile  adultery  stain  a  royal  race, 
The  blood  thus  mix'd  in  fouler  currents  flows. 
Taints  the  rich  soil,  and  breeds  unnumber'd  woes) — 

*  Here  is  a  wide  chasm  in  the  original.  What  is  lost  probably  may 
have  contained  great  part  of  Cotta's  arguments  against  the  providence 
of  the  Stoics. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  343 

did  he  not,  I  say,  by  that  adultery,  aim  at  the  possession 
of  the  crown  ?     Atreus  thus  continues : 

A  lamb,  fair  gift  of  heaven,  with  golden  fleece, 
Promised  in  vain  to  fix  my  crown  in  peace ; 
But  base  Thyestcs,  eager  for  the  prey, 
Crept  to  my  bed,  and  stole  the  gem  away. 

Do  you  not  perceive  that  Thyestes  must  have  had  a 
share  of  reason  proportionable  to  the  greatness  of  his 
crimes — such  crimes  as  are  not  only  represented  to  us  on 
the  stage,  but  such  as  we  see  committed,  nay,  often  exceed- 
ed, in  the  common  course  of  life  ?  The  private  houses  of 
individual  citizens,  the  public  courts,  the  senate,  the  camp, 
our  allies,  our  provinces,  all  agree  that  reason  is  the  author 
of  all  the  ill,  as  well  as  of  all  the  good, which  is  done;  that 
it  makes  few  act  well,  and  that  but  seldom,  but  many  act 
ill,  and  that  frequently;  and  that,  in  short, the  Gods  would 
have  shown  greater  benevolence  in  denying  us  any  reason 
at  all  than  in  sending  us  that  which  is  accompanied  with 
so  much  mischief;  for  as  wine  is  seldom  wholesome,  but 
often  hurtful  in  diseases,  we  think  it  more  prudent  to  deny 
it  to  the  patient  than  to  run  the  risk  of  so  uncertain  a 
remedy ;  so  I  do  not  know  whether  it  would  not  be  better 
for  mankind  to  be  deprived  of  wit,  thought,  and  penetra- 
tion, or  what  we  call  reason,  since  it  is  a  thing  pernicious 
to  many  and  very  useful  to  few,  than  to  have  it  bestowed 
upon  tliem  with  so  much  liberality  and  in  such  abundance. 
But  if  the  divine  will  has  really  consulted  the  good  of  man 
in  this  gift  of  reason,  the  good  of  those  men  only  was  con- 
sulted on  whom  a  well-regulated  one  is  bestowed:  how 
few  those  are,  if  any,  is  very  apparent.  We  cannot  admit, 
therefore,  that  the  Gods  consulted  the  good  of  a  few  only; 
the  conclusion  must  be  that  they  consulted  the  good  of 
none. 

.XXVIII.  You  answer  that  the  ill  use  which  a  great 
part  of  mankind  make  of  reason  no  more  takes  away  the 
goodness  of  the  Gods,  who  bestow  it  as  a  present  of  the 
greatest  benefit  to  them,  than  the  ill  use  which  children 
make  of  their  patrimony  diminishes  the  obligation  which 
they  have  to  their  parents  for  it.  We  grant  you  this; 
but  where  is  the  similitude?  It  was  far  from  Deianira's 
design  to  injure  Hercules  when  she  made  him  a  present 


344         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

of  the  shirt  clipped  in  the  blood  of  the  Centnurs.  No! 
was  it  a  regard  to  the  welfare  of  Jason  of  PhersB  that  in- 
fluenced the  man  who  with  his  sword  opened  his  iNipost- 
luune,  which  the  physicians  had  in  vain  attempted  to 
cure.  For  it  has  often  happened  that  people  have  served 
a  man  whom  they  intended  to  injure,  and  have  injured 
one  whom  they  designed  to  serve;  so  that  the  effect  of 
the  gift  is  by  no  means  always  a  proof  of  the  intention  of 
the  giver ;  neither  does  the  benefit  which  may  accrue  from 
it  prove  that  it  came  from  the  hands  of  a  benefactor. 
For,  in  short,  what  debauchery,  what  avarice,  what  crime 
among  men  is  there  which  does  not  owe  its  birth  to 
thought  and  reflection,  that  is,  to  reason  ?  For  all  opinion 
is  reason  :  right  reason,  if  men's  thoughts  are  conforma- 
ble to  truth ;  wrong  reason,  if  they  are  not.  The  Gods 
only  give  us  the  mere  faculty  of  reason,  if  we  have  any ; 
the  use  or  abuse  of  it  depends  entirely  upon  ourselves;  so 
that  the  comparison  is  not  just  betv/een  the  present  of 
reason  given  us  by  the  Gods,  and  a  patrimony  left  to  a  son 
by  his  father;  for,  after  all,  if  the  injury  of  mankind  had 
been  the  end  proposed  by  the  Gods,  what  could  they  have 
given  them  more  pernicious  than  reason?  for  what  seed 
could  there  be  of  injustice,  intemperance,  and  cowardice,  if 
reason  were  not  laid  as  the  foundation  of  these  vices  ? 

XXIX.  I  mentioned  just  now  Medea  and  Atreus,  per- 
sons celebrated  in  heroic  poems,  who  had  used  this  rea- 
son only  for  the  contrivance  and  practice  of  the  most  fla- 
gitious crimes ;  but  even  the  trifling  characters  which  ap- 
pear in  comedies  supply  us  with  the  like  instances  of  this 
reasoning  faculty ;  for  example,  does  not  he,  in  the  Eu- 
nuch, reason  with  some  subtlety  ? — 

What,  then,  must  I  resoh-e  upon  ? 

She  tnrn'd  me  out-of-doors  ;  she  sends  for  me  back  again  ; 

Shall  I  go  ?  no,  not  if  she  were  to  beg  it  of  me. 

Another,  in  the  Twins,  making  no  scruple  of  opposing  a 
received  maxim,  after  the  manner  of  the  Academics,  as- 
serts that  when  a  man  is  in  love  and  in  want,  it  is  pleas- 
ant 

To  have  a  father  covetous,  crabbed,  and  passionate, 
Who  has  no  love  or  affection  for  his  children. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  345 

This  unaccountable  opinion  he  strengthens  thus : 

You  may  defrand  him  of  his  profits,  or  forge  letters  in  his  name, 
Or  fright  him  by  your  servant  into  compliance  ; 
And  what  you  take  from  such  an  old  hunks, 
How  much  more  pleasantly  do  you  spend  it! 

On  the  contrary,  he  says  that  an  easy,  generous  father 
is  an  inconvenience  to  a  son  in  love ;  for,  says  he, 

I  can't  tell  how  to  abuse  so  good,  so  prudent  a  parent. 
Who  always  foreruns  my  desires,  and  meets  me  purse  in  hand, 
To  support  me  in  my  pleasures :  this  easy  goodness  and  generosity 
Quite  defeat  all  my  frauds,  tricks,  and  stratagems.  ^ 

What  are  these  frauds,  tricks,  and  stratagems  but  the 
effects  of  reason?  O  excellent  gift  of  the  Gods!  With- 
out this  Phormio  could  not  have  said. 

Find  me  out  the  old  man:  I  have  something  hatching  for  him  in  my 
head. 

XXX.  But  let  us  pass  from  the  stage  to  the  bar.  The 
praetor^  takes  his  seat.  To  judge  whom?  The  man  who 
set  fire  to  our  archives.  How  secretly  was  that  villany 
conducted!  Q.  Sosius,  an  illustrious  Roman  knight,  of 
the  Picene  field,^  confessed  the  fact.  Who  else  is  to  be 
tried  ?  He  who  forged  the  public  registers — Alenus,  an 
artful  fellow,  who  counterfeited  the  handwriting  of  the 
six  officers?  Let  us  call  to  mind  other  trials:  that  on 
the  subject  of  the  gold  of  Tolosa,  or  the  conspiracy  of  Ju- 
gurtha.  Let  us  trace  back  the  informations  laid  against 
Tubulus  for  bribery  in  his  judicial  office;  and,  since  that, 
the  proceedings  of  the  tribune  Peduceus  concerning  the 

^  Here  is  one  expression  in  the  quotation  from  Ca;cilius  that  is  not 
commonly  met  with,  which  is  prcestigias  prcestrinxit ;  Lambinus  gives 
prcestinxit,  for  the  sake,  I  suppose,  of  playing  on  words,  because  it  might 
then  be  translated,  "He  has  deluded  my  delusions,  or  stratagems;"  but 
prcestrinxit  is  certainly  the  right  reading. 

^  The  ancient  Romans  had  a  judicial  as  Avell  as  a  military  pra;tor ; 
and  he  sat,  with  inferior  judges  attending  him,  like  one  of  our  chief- 
justices.  Sessum  it  praetor,  which  I  doubt  not  is  the  right  reading,  Lam- 
binus restored  from  an  old  copy.  The  common  reading  was  sessum  ite 
precor. 

^  Picenuin  was  a  region  of  Italy. 

*  The  sex  prinii  were  general  receivers  of  all  taxes  and  tributes  ;  and 
they  were  obliged  to  make  good,  out  of  their  own  fortunes,  whatever 
deficiencies  were  in  the  public  treasury, 

15* 


346        THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

incest  of  the  vestals.  Let  iis  reflect  upon  the  trials  which 
daily  happen  for  assassinations,  poisonings,  embezzlement 
of  public  money,  frauds  in  wills,  against  which  we  have 
a  new  law ;  then  that  action  against  the  advisers  or  as- 
sisters  of  any  theft;  the  many  laws  concerning  frauds  in 
guardianship,  breaches  of  trust  in  partnerships  and  com- 
missions in  trade,  and  other  violations  of  faith  in  buy- 
ing, selling,  borrowing,  or  lending;  the  public  decree  on 
a  private  affair  by  the  Lsetorian  Law;^  and,  lastly,  that 
scourge  of  all  dishonesty,  the  law  against  fraud,  proposed 
by  our  friend  Aquillius ;  that  sort  of  fraud,  he  says,  by 
which  one  thing  is  pretended  and  another  done.  Can  we, 
then,  think  that  this  plentiful  fountain  of  evil  sprung  from 
the  immortal  Gods?  If  they  have  given  reason  to  man, 
they  have  likewise  given  him  subtlety,  for  subtlety  is  only 
a  deceitful  manner  of  applying  reason  to  do  mischief.  To 
them  likewise  we  must  owe  deceit,  and  every  other  crime, 
which,  without  the  help  of  reason,  would  neither  have 
been  thought  of  nor  committed.  As  the  old  woman 
wished 

That  to  the  fir  which  on  Monnt  Pelion  grew 

The  axe  had  ne'er  been  laid,^ 

so  we  should  wish  that  the  Gods  had  never  bestowed  this 
ability  on  man,  the  abuse  of  which  is  so  general  that  the 
small  number  of  those  who  make  a  good  use  of  it  are 
often  oppressed  by  those  who  make  a  bad  use  of  it ;  so 
that  it  seems  to  be  given  rather  to  help  vice  than  to  pro- 
mote virtue  among  us. 

XXXI.  This,  you  insist  on  it,  is  the  fault  of  man,  and 
not  of  the  Gods.  But  should  we  not  laugh  at  a  physician 
or  pilot,  though  they  are  weak  mortals,  if  they  were  to  lay 
the  blame  of  their  ill  success  on  the  violence  of  the  disease 
or  the  fury  of  the  tempest?     Had  there  not  been  danger, 

*  The  Lastorian  Law  was  a  security  for  those  under  age  against  ex- 
tortioners, etc.  By  tiiis  law  all  debts  contracted  under  twenty-iive  years 
of  age  were  void. 

'^  This  is  from  Eunius — 

Utinam  ne  in  uemore  Pelio  securibus 
Caesa  cecidisset  altiegua  ad  terram  trabes. 

Translated  from  the  beginning  of  the  Medea  of  Euripides — 

M»;6'  ev  vunai(n  Tlr}\iov  ncaeTv  ttotc 
Tfxr\0ci<Ta  irevKr). 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE   GODS.  Sil 

we  should  say,  who  would  have  applied  to  you  ?  This 
reasoning  has  still  greater  force  against  the  Deity.  The 
fault,  you  say,  is  in  man,  if  he  commits  crimes.  But  why 
was  not  man  endued  with  a  reason  incapable  of  producing 
any  crimes  ?  How  could  the  Gods  err  ?  When  we  leave 
our  effects  to  our  children,  it  is  in  hopes  that  they  may 
be  well  bestowed ;  in  which  we  may  be  deceived,  but  how 
can  the  Deity  be  deceived  ?  As  Phoebus  when  he  trusted 
his  chariot  to  his  son  Phaethon,  or  as  Neptune  when  he  in- 
dulged his  son  Theseus  in  granting  him  three  wishes,  the 
consequence  of  which  was  the  destruction  of  Hippolitus? 
These  are  poetical  fictions ;  but  truth,  and  not  fables, 
ought  to  proceed  from  philosophers.  Yet  if  those  poet- 
ical Deities  had  foreseen  that  their  indulgence  would  have 
proved  fatal  to  their  sons,  they  must  have  been  thought 
blamable  for  it. 

Aristo  of  Chios  used  often  to  say  that  the  philosophers 
do  hurt  to  such  of  their  disciples  as  take  their  good  doc- 
trine in  a  wrong  sense;  thus  the  lectures  of  Aristippus 
might  produce  debauchees,  and  those  of  Zeno  pedants. 
If  this  be  true,  it  were  better  that  philosophers  should  be 
silent  than  that  their  disciples  should  be  corrupted  by  a 
misapprehension  of  their  master's  meaning;  so  if  reason, 
which  was  bestowed  on  mankind  by  the  Gods  with  a  good 
design,  tends  only  to  make  men  more  subtle  and  fraudu- 
lent, it  had  been  better  for  them  never  to  have  received  it. 
There  could  be  no  excuse  for  a  physician  who  prescribes 
wine  to  a  patient,  knowing  that  he  will  drink  it  and  im- 
mediately expire.  Your  Providence  is  no  less  blamable  in 
giving  reason  to  man,  who,  it  foresaw,  would  make  a  bad 
use  of  it.  Will  you  say  that  it  did  not  foresee  it  ?  Noth- 
ing could  please  me  more  than  such  an  acknowledgment. 
But  you  dare  not.  I  know  what  a  sublime  idea  you  enter- 
tain of  her. 

XXXII.  But  to  conclude.  If  folly,  by  the  unanimous 
consent  of  philosophers,  is  allowed  to  be  the  greatest  of  all 
evils,  and  if  no  one  ever  attained  to  true  wisdom,  we,  whom 
they  say  the  immortal  Gods  take  care  of,  are  consequently 
in  a  state  of  the  utmost  misery.  For  that  nobody  is  well, 
or  that  nobody  can  be  well,  is  in  effect  the  same  thing ; 
and,  in  my  opinion,  that  no  man  is  truly  wise,  or  that  no 


348  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

man  can  be  truly  wise,  is  likewise  the  same  thing.  But  1 
will  insist  no  further  on  so  self-evident  a  point.  Telamon 
in  one  verse  decides  the  question.  If,  says  he,  there  is  a 
Divine  Providence, 

Good  men  would  be  happ}-,  bad  men  miserable. 

But  it  is  not  so.  If  the  Gods  had  regarded  mankind,  they 
should  have  made  them  all  virtuous;  but  if  they  did  not 
regard  the  welfare  of  all  mankind,  at  least  they  ought  to 
have  provided  for  the  happiness  of  tlie  virtuous.  Why, 
therefore,  was  the  Carthaginian  in  Spain  suffered  to  de- 
stroy those  best  and  bravest  men,  the  two  Scipios  ?  Why 
did  Maximus^  lose  his  son,  the  consul  ?  Why  did  Hanni- 
bal kill  Marcellus  ?  Wliy  did  Cannae  deprive  us  of  Pau- 
lus  ?  Why  was  the  body  of  Regulus  delivered  up  to  the 
cruelty  of  the  Carthaginians?  Why  was  not  Africanus 
protected  from  violence  in  his  own  house?  To  these,  and 
many  more  ancient  instances,  let  us  add  some  of  later  date. 
Why  is  Rutilins,  my  uncle,  a  man  of  the  greatest  virtue 
and  learning,  now  in  banishment?  Why  w\as  my  own 
friend  and  companion  Drusus  assassinated  in  his  own 
house?  Why  was  Scsevola,  the  high-priest,  that  pattern 
of  moderation  and  prudence,  massacred  before  the  statue 
of  Vesta  ?  Why,  before  that,  were  so  many  illustrious  cit- 
izens put  to  death  by  Cinna?  Why  had  Marius,  the  most 
perfidious  of  men,  the  power  to  cause  the  death  of  Catulus, 
a  man  of  the  greatest  dignity  ?  But  there  would  be  no  end 
of  enumerating  examples  of  good  men  made  miserable  and 
wicked  men  prosperous.  Why  did  that  Marius  live  to  an 
old  age,  and  die  so  happily  at  his  own  house  in  his  seventh 
consulsliip  ?  Why  was  that  inhuman  wretch  Cinna  per- 
mitted to  enjoy  so  long  a  reign  ? 

XXXIII.  He,  indeed,  met  with  deserved  punishment  at 
last.  But  would  it  not  have  been  better  that  these  inhu- 
manities had  been  prevented  than  that  the  author  of  them 
should  be  punished  afterward  ?  Varius,  a  most  impious 
wretch,  was  tortured  and  put  to  death.  If  this  was  his 
punishment  for  the  murdering  Drusus  by  the  sword,  and 
Metellus  by  poison,  would  it  not  have  been  better  to  have 
preserved  their  lives  than  to  have  their  deaths  avenged  on 
'  Q.  Fubius  Maximus,  surnamed  Cunctator. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  349 

Varius?  Dionysius  was  thirty-eight  years  a  tyrant  over 
the  most  opulent  and  flourishing  city ;  and,  before  him, 
how  many  years  did  Pisistratus  tyrannize  in  the  very  flow- 
er of  Greece !  Phalaris  and  Apollodorus  met  with  the 
fate  they  deserved,  but  not  till  after  they  had  tortured  and 
put  to  death  multitudes.  Many  robbers  have  been  exe- 
cuted; but  the  number  of  those  who  have  suffered  for 
their  crimes  is  short  of  those  whom  they  have  robbed  and 
murdered.  Anaxarchus,^  a  scholar  of  Democritus,  was  cut 
to  pieces  by  command  of  the  tyrant  of  Cyprus ;  and  Zeno 
of  Elca''  ended  his  life  in  tortures.  What  shall  I  say  of 
Socrates,^  whose  death,  as  often  as  I  read  of  it  in  Plato, 
draws  fresh  tears  from  my  eyes  ?  If,  therefore,  the  Gods 
really  see  everything  that  happens  to  men,  you  must  ac- 
knowledge they  make  no  distinction  between  the  good  and 
the  bad. 

XXXIV.  Diogenes  the  Cynic  used  to  say  of  Harpalus, 
one  of  the  most  fortunate  villains  of  his  time,  that  the 
constant  prosperity  of  such  a  man  was  a  kind  of  witness 
against  the  Gods.  Dionysius,  of  whom  we  have  before 
spoken,  after  he  had  pillaged  the  temple  of  Proserpine  at 
Locris,  set  sail  for  Syracuse,  and,  having  a  fair  wind  dur- 
ing his  voyage,  said,  with  a  smile,  "  See,  my  friends,  what 
favorable  winds  the  immortal  Gods  bestow  upon  church- 
robbers."  Encouraged  by  this  prosperous  event,  he  pro- 
ceeded in  his  impiety.  When  he  landed  at  Peloponnesus, 
he  went  into  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Olympius,  and  disrobed 
his  statue  of  a  golden  mantle  of  great  weight,  an  ornament 
wliich  the  tyrant  Gelo*  had  given  out  of  the  spoils  of  the 
Carthaginians,  and  at  the  same  time,  in  a  jesting  manner, 
he  said  "that  a  golden  mantle  was  too  heavy  in  summer 
and  too  cold  in  winter;"  and  then,  throwing  a  woollen 
cloak  over  the  statue,  added, "  This  will  serve  for  all  sea- 
sons." At  another  time,  he  ordered  the  golden  beard  of 
-^sculapius  of  Epidaurus  to  be  taken  away,  saying  that  "  it 

'  Diogenes  Laertius  says  he  was  pounded  to  death  in  a  stone  mortar 
by  command  of  Nicocreon,  tyrant  of  Cyprus. 

^  Elea,  a  city  of  Lucania,  in  Italy.  The  manner  in  which  Zeno  was 
put  to  death  is,  according  to  Diogenes  Laertius,  uncertain. 

^  This  great  and  good  man  was  accused  of  destroying  tlie  divinity  of 
the  Gods  of  his  country.  He  was  condemned,  and  died  by  drinking  a 
glass  of  poison.  *  Tyrant  of  Sicily. 


850  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

was  absurd  for  the  son  to  have  a  beard,  when  his  father 
had  none."  He  likewise  robbed  the  temples  of  the  silver 
tables,  which,  according  to  the  ancient  custom  of  Greece, 
bore  this  inscription,  "  To  the  good  Gods,"  saying  "  he  was 
willing  to  make  use  of  their  goodness;"  and,  without  the 
least  scruple,  took  away  the  little  golden  emblems  of  vic- 
tory, the  cups  and  coronets,  which  wei-e  in  the  stretched- 
out  hands  of  the  statues,  saying  "  he  did  not  take,  but  re- 
ceive them ;  for  it  would  be  folly  not  to  accept  good  things 
from  the  Gods,  to  whom  we  are  constantly  praying  for 
favors,  when  they  stretch  out  their  hands  towards  us." 
And,  last  of  all,  all  the  things  which  he  had  thus  pillaged 
from  the  temples  were,  by  his  order,  brought  to  the  mar- 
ket-place and  sold  by  the  common  crier;  and,  after  he  had 
received  the  money  for  them,  he  commanded  every  pur- 
chaser to  restore  what  he  had  bought,  within  a  limited 
time,  to  the  temples  from  whence  they  came.  Thus  to  his 
impiety  towards  the  Gods  he  added  injustice  to  man. 

XXXV.  Yet  neither  did  Olympian  Jove  strike  him  with 
his  thunder,  nor  did  ^Esculapius  cause  him  to  die  by  tedi- 
ous diseases  and  a  lingering  death.  He  died  in  his  bed, 
had  funeral  honors^  paid  to  him,  and  left  his  power,  which 
he  had  wickedly  obtained,  as  a  just  and  lawful  inheritance 
to  his  son. 

It  is  not  without  concern  that  I  maintain  a  doctrine 
which  seems  to  authorize  evil,  and  which  might  probably 
give  a  sanction  to  it,  if  conscience,  without  any  divine  as- 
sistance, did  not  point  out,  in  the  clearest  manner,  the  dif- 
ference between  virtue  and  vice.  Without  conscience 
man  is  contemptible.  For  as  no  family  or  state  can  be 
supposed  to  be  formed  with  any  reason  or  discipline  if 
there  are  no  rewards  for  good  actions  nor  punishment  for 
crimes,  so  we  cannot  believe  that  a  Divine  Providence 
regulates  the  world  if  there  is  no  distinction  between  the 
honest  and  the  wicked. 

^  The  common  reading  is,  in  tympanidis  rogum  inlatus  est.  This 
passage  lias  been  the  occasion  of  as  many  different  opinions  concerning 
l)oth  the  reading  and  the  sense  as  any  passage  in  the  whole  treatise. 
Ti/mpanum  is  used  for  a  timbrel  or  drum,  tympanidia  a  diminutive 
of  it,  Lambinus  says  tympana  "were  sticks  with  which  the  tyrant 
used  to  beat  the  condemned."  P.  Victorias  substitutes  tyrannidis  for 
tympanidis. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  351 

But  tlie  Gods,  you  say,  neglect  trifling  things  :  the  little 
fields  or  vineyards  of  particular  men  are  not  worthy  their 
attention ;  and  if  blasts  or  hail  destroy  their  product,  Ju- 
piter does  not  regard  it,  nor  do  kings  extend  their  care 
to  the  lower  offices  of  government.  This  argument  might 
have  some  weight  if,  in  bringing  Rutilius  as  an  instance, 
I  had  only  complained  of  the  loss  of  his  farm  at  Formiae ; 
but  I  spoke  of  a  personal  misfortune,  his  banishment.^ 

XXXVI.  All  men  agree  that  external  benefits,  such  as 
vineyards,  corn,  olives,  plenty  of  fruit  and  grain,  and,  in 
short,  every  convenience  and  property  of  life,  are  derived 
from  the  Gods ;  and,  indeed,  with  reason,  since  by  our 
virtue  we  claim  applause,  and  in  virtue  we  justly  glory, 
which  we  could  have  no  right  to  do  if  it  was  the  gift  of 
the  Gods,  and  not  a  personal  merit.  When  we  are  hon- 
ored with  new  dignities,  or  blessed  with  increase  of  riches ; 
when  we  are  favored  by  fortune  beyond  our  expectation, 
or  luckily  delivered  from  any  approaching  evil,  we  return 
thanks  for  it  to  the  Gods,  and  assume  no  praise  to  our- 
selves. But  who  ever  thanked  the  Gods  that  he  was  a 
good  man  ?  We  thank  them,  indeed,  for  riches,  health,  and 
honor.  For  these  we  invoke  the  all-good  and  all-power- 
ful Jupiter;  but  not  for  wisdom,  temperance,  and  justice. 
No  one  ever  offered  a  tenth  of  his  estate  to  Hercules  to  be 
made  wise.  It  is  reported,  indeed,  of  Pythagoras  that  he 
sacrificed  an  ox  to  the  Muses  upon  having  made  some  new 
discovery  in  geometry;^  but, for  my  part, I  cannot  believe 
it,  because  he  refused  to  sacrifice  even  to  Apollo  at  Delos, 
lest  he  should  defile  the  altar  with  blood.  But  to  return. 
It  is  universally  agreed  that  good  fortune  we  must  ask 
of  the  Gods,  but  wisdom  must  arise  from  ourselves ;  and 
though  temples  have  been  consecrated  to  the  Mind,  to 
Virtue,  and  to  Faith,  yet  that  does  not  contradict  their  be- 

*  The  original  is  de  amissa  salute;  which  means  the  sentence  of  ban- 
ishment among  the  Romans,  in  which  was  contained  the  loss  of  goods 
and  estate,  and  the  privileges  of  a  Roman  ;  and  in  this  sense  L'  Abbe 
d'Olivet  translates  it. 

^  The  forty-seventh  proposition  of  the  first  book  of  Euclid  is  unani- 
mously ascribed  to  him  by  the  ancients.  Dr.  Wotton,  iu  his  Reflections 
upon  Ancient  and  Modern  Learning,  snys,  "It  is  indeed  a  very  noble 
proposition,  the  foundation  of  trigonometry,  of  universal  and  various  use 
in  those  cuiions  speculations  about  incommensurable  numbers." 


352  THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

ing  inherent  in  us.  In  regard  to  hope,  safety,  assistance, 
and  victory,  we  must  rely  upon  the  Gods  for  them ;  from 
whence  it  follows,  as  Diogenes  said,  that  the  prosperity  of 
tlie  wicked  destroys  the  idea  of  a  Divine  Providence. 

XXXVII.  But  good  men  have  sometimes  success.  They 
have  so;  but  we  cannot,  with  any  show  of  reason,  attrib- 
ute that  success  to  the  Gods.  Diagoras,  who  is  called  the 
atheist,  being  at  Samothrace,  one  of  his  friends  showed 
him  several  pictures^  of  people  who  had  endured  very  dan- 
gerous storms ;  "  See,"  says  he,  "  you  who  deny  a  provi- 
dence, how  many  have  been  saved  by  their  prayers  to  the 
Gods."  "Ay,"  says  Diagoras, "  I  see  those  who  were  saved, 
but  where  are  those  painted  who  were  shipwrecked  ?"  At 
another  time,  he  himself  was  in  a  storm,  when  the  sailors, 
being  greatly  alarmed,  told  him  they  justly  deserved  that 
misfortune  for  admitting  him  into  their  ship  ;  when  he, 
pointing  to  others  under  the  like  distress,  asked  them  "if 
they  believed  Diagoras  was  also  aboard  those  ships  ?"  In 
short,  witli  regard  to  good  or  bad  fortune,  it  matters  not 
what  you  are,  or  how  you  have  lived.  The  Gods,  like 
kings,  regard  not  everything.  What  similitude  is  there 
between  them  ?  If  kings  neglect  anything,  want  of  knowl- 
edge may  be  pleaded  in  their  defence  ;  but  ignorance  can- 
not be  brought  as  an  excuse  for  the  Gods. 

XXXVIII.  Your  manner  of  justifying  them  is  some- 
what extraordinary,  when  you  say  that  if  a  wicked  man 
dies  without  suffering  for  his  crimes,  the  Gods  inflict  a 
punishment  on  his  children,  his  children's  children,  and  all 
his  posterity.  O  wonderful  equity  of  the  Gods  !  What 
city  would  endure  the  maker  of  a  law  which  should  con- 
demn a  son  or  a  grandson  for  a  crime  committed  by  the 
father  or  the  grandfather? 

Shall  Tantalus'  unhappy  offspring  know 
No  end,  no  close,  of  this  long  scene  of  woe  ? 
When  will  the  dire  reward  of  guilt  be  o'er, 
And  Myrtilus  demand  revenge  no  more?' 

Whether  the  poets  have  corrupted  the  Stoics,  or  the 
Stoics  given  authority  to  the  poets,  I  cannot  easily  deter- 
mine.    Both  alike  are  to  be  condemned.     If  those  persons 

*  These  votive  tables,  or  pictures,  were  hung  up  in  the  temples. 
"  This  passage  is  a  fragment  from  a  tragedy  of  Attius. 


THE  NATUKE  OF  THE  GODS.  353 

whose  names  have  been  branded  in  the  satires  of  Hipponax 
or  Archilochus^  were  driven  to  despair,  it  did  not  proceed 
from  the  Gods,  but  had  its  origin  in  their  own  minds. 
When  we  see  JEgistus  and  Paris  lost  in  the  heat  of  an  im- 
pure passion,  why  are  we  to  attribute  it  to  a  Deity,  when 
the  crime,  as  it  were,  speaks  for  itself?  I  believe  that 
those  who  recover  from  illness  are  more  indebted  to  the 
care  of  Hippocrates  than  to  the  power  of  JEsculapius; 
that  Sparta  received  her  laws  from  Lycurgus^  rather  than 
from  Apollo ;  that  those  eyes  of  the  maritime  coast,  Cor- 
inth and  Carthage,  were  plucked  out,  the  one  by  Critolaus, 
the  other  by  Hasdrubal,  without  the  assistance  of  any  di- 
vine anger,  since  you  yourselves  confess  that  a  Deity  can- 
not possibly  be  angry  on  any  provocation. 

XXXIX.  But  could  not  the  Deity  have  assisted  and 
])reserved  those  eminent  cities  ?  Undoubtedly  he  could  ; 
for,  according  to  your  doctrine,  his  power  is  infinite,  and 
without  the  least  labor ;  and  as  nothing  but  the  will  is 
necessary  to  the  motion  of  our  bodies,  so  the  divine  will 
of  the  Gods,  with  the  like  ease,  can  create,  move,  and 
change  all  things.  This  you  hold,  not  from  a  mere  phan- 
tom of  superstition,  but  on  natural  and  settled  principles 
of  reason ;  for  matter,  you  say,  of  which  all  things  are 
composed  and  consist,  is  susceptible  of  all  forms  and 
changes,  and  there  is  nothing  which  cannot  be,  or  cease  to 
be,  in  an  instant ;  and  that  Divine  Providence  has  the  com- 
mand and  disposal  of  this  universal  matter,  and  conse- 
quently can,  in  any  part  of  the  universe,  do  whatever  she 
pleases :  from  whence  I  conclude  that  this  Providence  ei- 
ther knows  not  the  extent  of  her  power,  or  neglects  human 
aifairs,  or  cannot  judge  what  is  best  for  us.  Providence, 
you  say,  does  not  extend  her  care  to  particular  men ;  there 

^  Hipponax  was  a  poet  at  Ephesus,  and  so  deformed  that  Bupalus 
drew  a  picture  of  him  to  provoke  laughter ;  for  which  Hipponax  is  said 
to  have  written  such  keen  iambics  on  the  painter  that  he  hanged  himself. 

Lycambes  had  promised  Archilochus  the  poet  to  marry  his  daughter 
to  him,  but  afterward  retracted  his  promise,  and  refused  her;  upon  which 
Archilochus  is  said  to  have  published  a  satire  in  iambic  verse  that  pro- 
voked him  to  hang  himself. 

^  Cicero  refers  here  to  an  oracle  approving  of  his  laws,  and  promising 
Sparta  prosperity  as  long  as  they  were  obeyed,  which  Lycurgus  procured 
from  Delphi. 


354         THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS. 

is  no  wonder  in  that,  since  she  does  not  extend  it  to  cities, 
or  even  to  nations,  or  people.  If,  therefore,  she  neglects 
whole  nations,  is  it  not  very  probable  that  she  neglects 
all  mankind  ?  But  how  can  you  assert  that  the  Gods  do 
not  enter  into  all  the  little  circumstances  of  life,  and  yet 
liold  that  they  distribute  dreams  among  men  ?  Since  you 
believe  in  dreams,  it  is  your  part  to  solve  this  difficulty. 
Besides,  you  say  we  ought  to  call  upon  the  Gods.  Those 
who  call  upon  the  Gods  are  individuals.  Divine  Provi- 
dence, therefore,  regards  individuals,  which  consequently 
proves  that  they  are  more  at  leisure  than  you  imagine. 
Let  us  suppose  the  Divine  Providence  to  be  greatly  busied ; 
that  it  causes  the  revolutions  of  the  heavens,  supports  the 
earth,  and  rules  the  seas  :  why  does  it  suffer  so  many  Gods 
to  be  unemployed?  Why  is  not  the  superintendence  of 
human  affairs  given  to  some  of  those  idle  Deities  which 
you  say  are  innumerable? 

This  is  the  purport  of  what  I  had  to  say  concerning 
"  the  Nature  of  the  Gods ;"  not  with  a  design  to  destroy 
their  existence,  but  merely  to  show  what  an  obscure  point 
it  is,  and  with  what  difficulties  an  explanation  of  it  is  at- 
tended. 

XL.  Balbus,  observing  that  Cotta  had  finished  his  dis- 
course— You  have  been  very  severe,  says  he,  against  a  Di- 
vine Providence,  a  doctrine  established  by  the  Stoics  with 
piety  and  wisdom ;  but,  as  it  grows  too  late,  I  shall  defer 
my  answer  to  another  day.  Our  argument  is  of  the  great- 
est importance;  it  concerns  our  altars,^  our  hearths,  our 
temples,  nay,  even  the  walls  of  our  city,  which  you  priests 
liold  sacred  ;  you,  who  by  religion  defend  Rome  better 
than  she  is  defended  by  her  ramparts.  This  is  a  cause 
which,  while  I  have  life,  I  think  I  cannot  abandon  without 
impiety. 

There  is  nothing,  replied  Cotta,  which  I  desire  more  » 
than  to  be  confuted.     I  have  not  pretended  to  decide  this 
point,  but  to  give  you  my  private  sentiments  upon  it ;  and 
am  very  sensible  of  your  great  superiority  in  argument. 

'  Pro  arts  et  focis  is  a  proverbial  expression.  The  Romans,  when 
they  would  say  their  all  was  at  stake,  could  not  express  it  stronger  than 
by  saying  they  contended  pro  aris  et  focis,  for  religion  and  their  fire- 
sides, or,  as  we  express  it,  for  religion  and  property. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GODS.  355 

No  doubt  of  it,  says  Velleius ;  wo  have  much  to  fear  from 
one  who  believes  that  our  dreams  are  sent  from  Jupiter, 
which,  though  they  are  of  little  weight,  are  yet  of  more 
importance  than  the  discourse  of  the  Stoics  concerning 
tlie  nature  of  the  Gods.  The  conversation  ended  liere, 
and  we  parted.  Velleius  judged  that  the  arguments  of 
Cotta  were  truest;  but  those  of  Balbus  seemed  to  me  to 
liave  the  greater  probability/ 

^  Cicero,  who  was  an  Academic,  gives  his  opinion  according  to  the 
manner  of  tlie  Academics,  wlio  looked  upon  probability,  and  a  resem- 
blance of  truth,  as  the  utmost  they  could  arrive  at. 


ON   THE   COMMONWEALTH. 


PREFACE  BY  THE  EDITOR. 

This  work  was  one  of  Cicero's  earlier  treatises,  thougb 
one  of  those  which  was  most  admired  by  his  contempora- 
ries, and  one  of  which  he  himself  was  most  proud.  It  was 
composed  54  b.c.  It  was  originally  in  two  books :  then  it 
was  altered  and  enlarged  into  nine,  and  finally  reduced  to 
six.  With  the  exception  of  the  dream  of  Scipio,  in  the 
last  book,  the  whole  treatise  was  lost  till  the  year  1822, 
when  the  librarian  of  the  Vatican  discovered  a  portion  of 
them  among  the  palimpsests  in  that  library.  What  he  dis- 
covered is  translated  here;  but  it  is  in  a  most  imperfect 
and  mutilated  state. 

The  form  selected  was  that  of  a  dialogue,  in  imitation 
of  those  of  Plato ;  and  the  several  conferences  were  sup- 
posed to  have  taken  place  during  the  Latin  holidays,  129 
B.C.,  in  the  consulship  of  Caius  Sempronius,  Tuditanus, 
and  Marcus  Aquilius.  The  speakers  are  Scipio  Africanus 
the  younger,  in  whose  garden  the  scene  is  laid ;  Caius 
Lselius ;  Lucius  Furius  Philus ;  Marcus  Manilius ;  Spurius 
Mummius,  the  brother  of  the  taker  of  Corinth,  a  Stoic; 
Quintus  -^lius  Tubero,  a  nephew  of  Africanus;  Publius 
Rutilius  Rufus ;  Quintus  Mucins  Scaevola,  the  tutor  of  Cic- 
ero ;  and  Caius  Fannius,  who  was  absent,  however,  on  the 
second  day  of  the  conference. 

In  the  first  book,  the  first  thirty-three  pages  are  want- 
ing, and  there  are  chasms  amounting  to  thirty-eight  pages 
more.     In  this  book  Scipio  asserts  the  superiority  of  an  i 
active  over  a  speculative  career ;  and  after  analyzing  and  I 
comparing  the  monarchical,  aristocratic,  and  democratic 
forms  of  government,  gives  a  preference  to  the  first;  al~ 


358  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

though  liis  idea  of  a  perfect  constitution  would  be  one 
compounded  of  three  kinds  in  due  proportion. 

There  are  a  few  chasms  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  second 
book,  and  the  latter  part  of  it  is  wholly  lost.  In  it  Scipio 
was  led  on  to  give  an  account  of  the  rise  and  progress  of 
the  Roman  Constitution,  from  which  he  passed  on  to  the 
examination  of  the  great  moral  obligations  which  are  the 
foundations  of  all  political  union. 

Of  the  remaining  books  we  have  only  a  few  disjointed 
fragments,  with  the  exception,  as  has  been  before  men- 
tioned, of  the  dream  of  Scipio  in  the  sixth. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  869 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  FIRST  BOOK, 

BY   THE   ORIGINAL   TRANSLATOR. 

Cicero  introduces  his  subject  by  showing  that  men  were  not  born  for  the 
mere  abstract  study  of  philosophy,  but  that  the  study  of  philosophic 
truth  should  always  be  made  as  practical  as  possible,  and  applicable  to 
the  great  interests  of  philanthropy  and  patriotism.  Cicero  endeavors 
to  show  the  benefit  of  mingling  the  contemplative  or  philosophic  with 
the  political  and  active  life,  according  to  that  maxim  of  Plato — "  Hap- 
py is  the  nation  whose  philosophers  are  kings,  and  whose  kings  are 
philosophers." 

This  kind  of  introduction  was  the  mere  necessary  because  many  of  the 
ancient  philosophers,  too  warmly  attached  to  transcendental  meta- 
physics and  sequestered  speculations,  had  affirmed  that  true  philoso- 
phers ought  not  to  interest  themselves  in  tlie  management  of  public 
affairs.  Thus,  as  M.  Villemain  observes,  it  was  a  maxim  of  the  Epi- 
cureans, "Sapiens  ne  accedat  ad  rempublicnm  "  (Let  no  wise  man 
meddle  in  pohtics).  The  Pythagoreans  had  enforced  the  same  princi- 
ple with  more  gravity,  Aristotle  examines  the  question  on  both  sides, 
and  concludes  in  favor  of  active  life.  Among  Aristotle's  disciples,  a 
writer,  singularly  elegant  and  pure,  had  maintained  the  pre-eminence 
of  the  contemplative  life  over  the  political  or  active  one,  in  a  work 
which  Cicero  cites  with  admiration,  and  to  which  he  seems  to  have 
applied  for  relief  whenever  he  felt  harassed  and  discouraged  in  public 
business.  But  here  this  great  man  was  interested  by  the  subject  he 
discusses,  and  by  the  whole  course  of  his  experience  and  conduct,  to 
refute  the  dogmas  of  that  pusillanimous  sophistry  and  selfish  indul- 
gence by  bringing  forward  the  most  glorious  examples  and  achieve- 
ments of  patriotism.  In  this  strain  he  had  doubtless  commenced  his 
exordium,  and  in  this  strain  we  find  him  continuiug  it  at  the  point  in 
which  the  palimpsest  becomes  legible.  He  then  proceeds  to  introduce 
his  illustrious  interlocutors,  and  leads  them  at  first  to  discourse  on  the 
astronomical  laws  that  regulate  the  revolutions  of  our  planet.  From 
this,  by  a  very  graceful  and  beautiful  transition,  he  passes  on  to  the 
consideration  of  the  best  forms  of  political  constitutions  that  had  pre- 
vailed in  different  nations,  and  those  modes  of  government  which  had 
produced  the  greatest  benefits  in  the  commonwealths  of  antiquity. 

This  first  book  is,  in  fact,  a  splendid  epitome  of  the  political  science  of 
the  age  of  Cicero,  and  probably  the  most  eloquent  plea  in  favor  of 
mixed  monarchy  to  be  found  in  all  literature. 


360  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 


BOOK  I. 

T.  [Without  the  virtue  of  patriotism],  neither  Caiiia 
Duilius,  nor  Aulus  Atilius/  nor  Lucius  Metelhis,  could 
have  delivered  Rome  by  their  courage  from  tlie  terror  of 
Carthage;  nor  could  the  two  Scipios,  when  the  fire  of  the 
second  Punic  "War  was  kindled,  have  quenched  it  in  their 
blood ;  nor,  when  it  revived  in  greater  force,  could  either 
Quintus  Maximus'*  have  enervated  it,  or  Marcus  Marcellus 
liave  crushed  it;  nor,  wdien  it  was  repulsed  from  the  gates 
of  our  own  city,  would  Scipio  have  confined  it  within  the 
walls  of  our  enemies. 

But  Cato,  at  first  a  new  and  unknown  man,  whom  all 
we  who  aspire  to  the  same  honors  consider  as  a  pattern 
to  lead  us  on  to  industry  and  virtue,  was  undoubtedly  at 
liberty  to  enjoy  his  repose  at  Tusculum,  a  most  salubri- 
ous and  convenient  retreat.  But  he,  mad  as  some  people 
think  him,  though  no  necessity  compelled  him,  preferred 
being  tossed  about  amidst  the  tempestuous  waves  of  pol- 
itics, even  till  extreme  old  age,  to  living  with  all  imagina-, 
ble  luxury  in  that  tranquillity  and  relaxation.  I  omit  in- 
numerable men  who  have  separately  devoted  themselves 
to  the  protection  of  our  Commonwealth;  and  those  whose 
lives  are  within  the  memory  of  the  present  generation  I 
will  not  mention,  lest  any  one  should  complain  that  I  had 
invidiously  forgotten  himself  or  some  one  of  his  family. 
This  only  I  insist  on — that  so  great  is  the  necessity  of  this 
virtue  which  nature  has  implanted  in  man,  and  so  great 
is  the  desire  to  defend  the  conmion  safety  of  our  country, 
that  its  energy  has  continually  overcome  all  the  blandish- 
ments of  pleasure  and  repose. 

II.  Nor  is  it  sufficient  to  possess  this  virtue  as  if  it 

were  some  kind  of  art,  unless  we  put  it  in  practice.     An 

art,  indeed,  though  not  exercised,  may  still  be  retained  in 

knowledge;  but  virtue  consists  wholly  in  its  proper  use 

'  /.  e.,  Kegulus.  '  /.  e.,  Fabius. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  361 

and  action.  Now,  the  noblest  use  of  virtue  is  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Commonwealth,  and  the  carrying-out  in  real 
action,  not  in  words  only,  of  all  those  identical  theories 
which  those  philosophers  discuss  at  every  corner.  For 
nothing  is  spoken  by  philosophers,  so  far  as  they  speak 
correctly  and  honorably,  which  has  not  been  discovered 
and  confirmed  by  those  persons  who  have  been  the  found- 
ers of  the  laws  of  states.  For  whence  comes  piety,  or 
from  whom  has  religion  been  derived?  Whence  comes 
law,  either  that  of  nations,  or  that  which  is  called  the  civ- 
il law?  Whence  comes  justice,  faith,  equity ?  Whence 
modesty,  continence,  the  horror  of  baseness,  the  desire 
of  praise  and  renown  ?  Whence  fortitude  in  labors  and 
perils  ?  Doubtless,  from  those  who  have  instilled  some 
of  these  moral  principles  into  men  by  education,  and  con- 
firmed others  by  custom,  and  sanctioned  others  by  laws. 

Moreover,  it  is  reported  of  Xenocrates,  one  of  the  sub- 
limest  philosophers,  that  when  some  one  asked  him  what 
his  disciples  learned,  he  replied,  "  To  do  that  of  their  own 
accord  which  they  might  be  compelled  to  do  by  law." 
That  citizen,  therefore,  who  obliges  all  men  to  those  virtu- 
ous actions,  by  the  authority  of  laws  and  penalties,  to 
which  the  philosophers  can  scarcely  persuade  a  few  by 
the  force. of  their  eloquence,  is  certainly  to  be  preferred  to 
the  sagest  of  the  doctors  who  spend  their  lives  in  such 
discussions.  For  which  of  their  exquisite  orations  is  so 
admirable  as  to  be  entitled  to  be  preferred  to  a  well-con- 
stituted government,  public  justice,  and  good  customs? 
Certainly,  just  as  I  think  that  magnificent  and  imperious 
cities  (as  Ennius  says)  are  superior  to  castles  and  villages, 
so  I  imagine  that  those  who  regulate  such  cities  by  their 
counsel  and  authority  are  far  preferable,  with  respect  to 
real  wisdom,  to  men  who  are  unacquainted  with  any  kind 
of  political  knowledge.  And  since  we  are  strongly 
prompted  to  augment  the  prosperity  of  the  human  race, 
and  since  we  do  endeavor  by  our  counsels  and  exertions 
to  i-ender  the  life  of  man  safer  and  wealthier,  and  since  we 
are  incited  to  this  blessing  by  the  spur  of  nature  herself, 
let  us  hold  on  that  course  which  has  always  been  pursued 
by  all  the  best  men,  and  not  listen  for  a  moment  to  the 
signals  of  those  who  sound  a  retreat  so  loudly  that  they 

16 


362  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

sometimes  call  back  even  those  who  have  made  considera« 
blc  progress. 

III.  These  reasons,  so  certain  and  so  evident,  are  op- 
posed by  those  who,  on  the  other  side,  argue  that  the  la- 
bors which*  must  necessarily  be  sustained  in  maintaining 
the  Commonwealth  form  but  a  slight  impediment  to  the 
vigilant  and  industrious,  and  are  only  a  contemptible  ob- 
stacle in  such  important  affairs,  and  even  in  common  stud- 
ies, offices,  and  employments.  They  add  the  peril  of  life, 
that  base  fear  of  death,  which  has  ever  been  opposed  by 
brave  men,  to  whom  it  appears  far  more  miserable  to  die 
by  the  decay  of  nature  and  old  age  than  to  be  allowed 
an  opportunity  of  gallantly  sacrificing  that  life  for  their 
country  which  must  otherwise  be  yielded  up  to  nature. 

On  this  point,  however,  our  antngonists  esteem  them- 
selves copious  and  eloquent  when  they  collect  all  the  ca- 
lamities of  heroic  men,  and  the  injuries  inflicted  on  them 
by  their  ungrateful  countrymen.  For  on  this  subject  they 
bring  forward  those  notable  examples  among  the  Greeks; 
and  tell  us  that  Miltiades,  the  vanquisher  and  conqueror 
of  the  Persians,  before  even  those  wounds  were  healed 
which  he  had  received  in  that  most  glorious  victory, 
wasted  away  in  the  chains  of  his  fellow-citizens  that  life 
w^hich  had  been  preserved  from  the  weapons  of  the  ene- 
my. They  cite  Themistocles,  expelled  and  proscribed  by 
the  country  which  he  had  rescued,  and  forced  to  flee,  not 
to  the  Grecian  ports  which  he  had  preserved,  but  to  the 
bosom  of  the  barbarous  powder  w^hich  he  had  defeated. 
There  is,  indeed,  no  deficiency  of  examples  to  illusti-ate 
the  levity  and  cruelty  of  the  Athenians  to  their  noblest 
citizens  —  examples  which,  originating  and  multiplying 
among  them,  are  said  at  different  times  to  have  abounded 
in  our  own  most  august  empire.  For  we  are  told  of  the 
exile  of  Camillus,  the  disgrace  of  Ahala,  the  unpopularity 
of  Nasica,  the  expulsion  of  La^nas,^  the  condemnation  of 

'  It  is  unnecessary  to  give  an  account  of  the  other  names  here  men- 
tioned ;  but  that  of  Lajnas  is  probably  less  known.  He  was  Publiiis 
ropillius  Loenas,  consul  132  B.C.,  the  year  after  the  death  of  Tiberius 
Gracchus,  and  it  became  his  duty  to  prosecute  the  accomplices  of  Grac- 
clius,  for  which  he  was  afterward  attacked  by  Cains  Gracchus  with  such 
animosity  that  he  withdrew  into  voluntary  exile.  Cicero  pays  a  tribute 
to  the  energy  of  Opimius  in  the  first  Oration  against  Catiline,  c.  iii. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  303 

Opiiuius,  the  flight  of  Metellus,  the  cruel  destruction  of 
Caius  Marius,  the  massacre  of  our  chieftains,  and  the 
many  atrocious  crimes  which  followed.  My  own  history 
is  by  no  means  free  from  such  calamities;  and  I  imagine 
that  when  they  recollect  that  by  my  counsel  and  perils 
they  were  preserved  in  life  and  liberty,  they  are  led  by 
that  consideration  to  bewail  my  misfortunes  more  deeply 
and  affectionately.  But  I  cannot  tell  why  those  who  sail 
over  the  seas  for  the  sake  of  knowledge  and  experience 
[should  wonder  at  seeing  still  greater  hazards  braved  in 
the  service  of  the  Commonwealth]. 

ly.  [Since],  on  my  quitting  the  consulship,  I  swore  in 
the  assembly  of  the  Roman  people,  wlio  re-echoed  my 
words,  that  I  had  saved  the  Commonwealth,  I  console  my- 
self with  this  remembrance  for  all  my  cares,  troubles,  and 
injuries.  Although  my  misfortune  had  more  of  honor 
than  misfortune,  and  more  of  glory  than  disaster;  and  I 
derive  greater  pleasure  from  the  regrets  of  good  men  than 
sorrow  from  the  exultation  of  the  ^yorthless.  But  even  if 
it  had  happened  otherwise,  how  could  I  have  complained, 
as  nothing  befell  me  which  was  either  unforeseen,  or  more 
painful  than  I  expected,  as  a  return  for  my  illustrious  ac- 
tions ?  For  I  was  one  who,  though  it  was  in  my  power  to 
reap  more  profit  from  leisure  than  most  men,  on  account 
of  the  diversified  sweetness  of  my  studies,  in  which  I  had 
lived  from  boyhood — or,  if  any  public  calamity  had  hap- 
pened, to  have  borne  no  more  than  an  equal  share  with  the 
rest  of  my  countrymen  in  the  misfortune — I  nevertheless 
did  not  hesitate  to  oppose  myself  to  the  most  formidable 
tempests  and  torrents  of  sedition,  for  the  sake  of  saving 
my  countrymen,  and  at  my  own  proper  danger  to  secure 
the  common  safety  of  all  the  rest.  For  our  country  did 
not  beget  and  educate  us  with  the  expectation  of  receiving 
no  support,  as  I  may  call  it,  from  us ;  nor  for  the  purpose . 
of  consulting  nothing  but  our  convenience,  to  supply  us| 
with  a  secure  refuge  for  idleness  and  a  tranquil  spot  for 
rest ;  but  rather  with  a  view  of  turning  to  her  own  advan- 
tage the  nobler  portion  of  our  genius,  heart,  and  counsel;, 
giving  us  back  for  our  private  service  only  what  she  can 
spare  from  the  public  interests.  ^ 

V.  Those  apologies,  therefore,  in  w^hich  men  take  ref- 


364  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

uge  as  an  excuse  for  their  devoting  themselves  witli  more 
plausibility  to  mere  inactivity  do  certainly  not  deserve  to 
be  listened  to;  when,  for  instance,  they  tell  us  that  those 
who  meddle  v/ith  public  affairs  are  generally  good-for- 
nothing  men,  with  whom  it  is  discreditable  to  be  com- 
pared, and  miserable  and  dangerous  to  contend,  especially 
when  the  multitude  is  in  an  excited  state.     On  which  ac- 

I  count  it  is  not  the  part  of  a  wise  man  to  take  the  reins, 
since  he  cannot  restrain  the  insane  and  unregulated  move- 
ments of  the  common  people.  Nor  is  it  becoming  to  a 
man  of  liberal  birth,  say  they,  thus  to  contend  with  such 
vile  and  unrefined  antagonists,  or  to  subject  one's  self  to 
the  lashings  of  contumely,  or  to  put  one's  self  in  the  way 
of  injuries  which  ought  not  to  be  borne  by  a  wise  man. 
As  if  to  a  virtuous,  brave,  and  magnanimous  man  there 
could  be  a  juster  reason  for  seeking  the  government  than 
this — to  avoid  being  subjected  to  worthless  men,  and  to 
prevent  the  Commonwealth  from  being  torn  to  pieces  by 
them ;  when,  even  if  they  were  then  desirous  to  save  her, 
they  would  not  have  the  power. 

VI.  But  this  restriction  who  can  approve,  which  would 
interdict  the  wise  man  from  taking  any  share  in  the  gov- 
ernment beyond  such  as  the  occasion  and  necessity  may 
compel  him  to?  As  if  any  greater  necessity  could  pos- 
sibly happen  to  any  man  than  happened  to  me.  In  which, 
how  could  I  have  acted  if  I  had  not  been  consul  at  the 
time?  and  how  could  I  have  been  a  consul  unless  I  had 
maintained  that  course  of  life  from  my  childhood  which 
raised  me  from  the  order  of  knights,  in  which  I  was  born, 
to  the  very  highest  station  ?  You  cannot  produce  extem- 
pore^ and  just  when  you  please,  the  power  of  assisting  a 
commonwealth,  although  it  may  be  severely  pressed  by 
dangers,  unless  you  have  attained  the  position  which  en- 
ables you  legally  to  do  so.  And  what  most  surprises  me 
in  the  discourses  of  learned  men  is  to  hear  those  persons 
Avho  confess  themselves  incapable  of  steering  the  vessel  of 

■  the  State  in  smooth  seas  (which,  indeed,  they  never  learn- 
ed, and  never  cared  to  know)  profess  themselves  ready  to 

j  assume  the  h(;lm  amidst  the  fiercest  tempests.  For  those 
men  are  accustomed  to  say  openly,  and  indeed  to  boast 
greatly,  that  they  have  never  learned,  and  have  never  taken 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  365 

the  least  pains  to  explain,  the  principles  of  either  establjsh- 
ino-  or  maintaining  a  conimonweallh ;  and  they  look  on 
this  practical  science  as  one  which  belongs  not  to  men  of 
learning  and  wisdom,  but  to  those  who  have  made  it  their 
especial  study.  How,  then,  can  it  be  reasonable  for  such 
men  to  promise  their  assistance  to  the  State,  when  they 
shall  be  compelled  to  it  by  necessity,  while  they  are  igno- 
rant how  to  govern  the  republic  when  no  necessity  press- 
es upon  it,  which  is  a  much  more  easy  task?  Indeed, 
though  it  were  true  that  the  wise  man  loves  not  to  thrust 
himself  of  his  own  accord  into  the  administration  of  pub- 
lic affairs,  but  that  if  circumstances  oblige  him  to  it,  then 
he  does  not  refuse  the  office,  yet  I  think  that  this  science 
of  civil  legislation  should  in  no  wise  be  neglected  by  the 
philosopher,  because  all  resources  ought  to  be  ready  to  his 
hand,  which  he  knows  not  how  soon  he  may  be  called  on 
to  use. 

VII.  I  have  spoken  thus  at  large  for  this  reason,  because 
in  this  work  I  have  proposed  to  myself  and  undertaken  a 
discussion  on  the  government  of  a  state ;  and  in  order  to 
render  it  useful,  I  was  bound,  in  the  first  place,  to  do  away 
with  this  pusillanimous  hesitation  to  mingle  in  public  af- 
fairs. If  there  be  any,  therefore,  who  are  too  much  influ- 
enced by  the  authority  of  the  philosophers,  let  them  con- 
sider the  subject  for  a  moment,  and  be  guided  by  the  opin- 
ions of  those  men  whose  authority  and  credit  are  greatest 
among  learned  men ;  whom  I  look  upon,  though  some  of 
them  have  not  personally  governed  any  state,  as  men  who 
have  nevertheless  discharged  a  kind  of  office  in  the  repub- 
lic, inasmuch  as  they  have  made  many  investigations  into, 
and  left  many  writings  concerning,  state  affairs.  As  to 
those  whom  the  Greeks  entitle  the  Seven  Wise  Men,  I  find 
that  they  almost  all  lived  in  the  middle  of  public  business. 
Nor,  indeed,  is  there  anything  in  which  human  virtue  can 
more  closely  resemble  the  divine  powers  than  in  establish- 
ing new  states,  or  in  preserving  those  already  established. 

VIII.  And  concerning  these  affairs,  since  it  has  been  our' 
good  fortune  to  achieve  something  worthy  of  memorial  in 
the  government  of  our  country,  and  also  to  have  acquired 
some  facility  of  explaining  the  powers  and  resources  of 
politics,  we  can  treat  of  this  subject  with  the  weight  of 


366  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

personal  experience  and  the  habit  of  instruction  and  ilhis. 
tration.  Whereas  before  us  many  have  been  skilful  in 
theory,  though  no  exploits  of  theirs  are  recorded ;  and 
many  others  have  been  men  of  consideration  in  action, 
but  unfamiliar  with  the  arts  of  exposition.  Nor,  indeed,  is 
it  at  all  our  intention  to  establish  a  new  and  self-invented 
system  of  government;  but  our  purpose  is  rather  to  recall 
to  memory  a  discussion  of  the  most  illustrious  men  of  tlieir 
age  in  our  Commonwealth,  which  you  and  I,  in  our  youth, 
vi^hen  at  Smyrna,  heard  mentioned  by  Publius  Rutilius 
Rufus,  who  reported  to  us  a  conference  of  many  days  in 
which,  in  my  opinion,  there  was  nothing  omitted  that  could 
throw  light  on  political  affairs. 

IX.  For  when,  in  the  year  of  the  consulship  of  Tudi- 
tanus  and  Aquilius,  Scipio  Africanus,  the  son  of  Paulus 
^milius,  formed  the  project  of  spending  the  Latin  holi- 
days at  his  country-seat,  where  his  most  intimate  friends 
had  promised  him  frequent  visits  during  this  season  of 
relaxation,  on  the  first  morning  of  the  festival,  his  ne- 
phew, Quintus  Tubero,  made  his  appearance ;  and  when 
Scipio  had  greeted  him  heartily  and  embraced  him — How^ 
is  it,  my  dear  Tubero,  said  he,  that  I  see  you  so  early  ? 
For  these  holidays  must  afford  you  a  capital  opportunity 
of  pursuing  your  favorite  studies.  Ah !  replied  Tubero, 
I  can  study  my  books  at  any  time,  for  they  are  always 
disengaged ;  but  it  is  a  great  privilege,  my  Scipio,  to  find 
you  at  leisure,  especially  in  this  restless  period  of  public 
affairs.  You  certainly  have  found  me  so,  said  Scipio,  but, 
to  speak  truth,  I  am  rather  relaxing  from  business  than 
from  study.  Nay,  said  Tubero,  you  must  try  to  relax 
from  your  studies  too,  for  here  are  several  of  us,  as  w^e 
have  appointed,  all  ready,  if  it  suits  your  convenience,  to 
aid  you  in  getting  through  this  leisure  time  of  yours.  I 
am  very  willing  to  consent,  answered  Scipio,  and  we  may 
be  able  to  compare  notes  respecting  the  several  topics  that 
interest  us. 

X.  Be  it  so,  said  Tubero ;  and  since  you  invite  me  to 
discussion,  and  present  the  opportunity,  let  us  first  exam- 
ine, before  any  one  else  arrives,  what  can  be  the  nature 
of  the  parhelion,  or  double  sun,  which  was  mentioned  in 
tlio  senate.     Those  that  affirm  they  witnessed  this  prodi* 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  367 

gy  are  neither  few  nor  unworthy  of  credit,  so  that  there 
is  more  reason  for  investigation  than  incredulity.* 

Ah !  said  Scipio,  I  wisli  we  had  our  friend  Pana3tiu8 
with  us,  who  is  fond  of  investigating  all  things  of  this 
kind,  but  especially  all  celestial  phenomena.  As  for  my 
opinion,  Tubero,  for  I  always  tell  you  just  what  I  think, 
I  hardly  agree  in  these  subjects  with  that  friend  of  mine, 
since,  respecting  things  of  which  we  can  scarcely  form  a 
conjecture  as  to  their  character,  he  is  as  positive  as  if  he 
had  seen  them  with  his  own  eyes  and  felt  them  with  his 
own  hands.  And  I  cannot  but  the  more  admire  the  wis- 
dom of  Socrates,  who  discarded  all  anxiety  respecting 
things  of  this  kind,  and  affirmed  that  these  inquiries  con- 
cerning tlie  secrets  of  nature  were  either  above  the  efforts 
of  human  reason,  or  were  absolutely  of  no  consequence  at 
all  to  human  life. 

But,  then,  my  Africanus,  replied  Tubero,  of  what  credit 
is  the  tradition  which  states  that  Socrates  rejected  all 
these  physical  investigations,  and  confined  his  whole  at- 
tention to  men  and  manners  ?  For,  with  respect  to  him 
what  better  authority  can  we  cite  than  Plato  ?  in  many 
passages  of  whose  works  Socrates  speaks  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  even  when  he  is  discussing  morals,  and  virtues, 
and  even  public  affairs  and  politics,  he  endeavors  to  inter- 
weave, after  the  fashion  of  Pythagoras,  the  doctrines  of 
arithmetic,  geometry,  and  harmonic  proportions  with  them. 

That  is  true,  replied  Scipio ;  but  you  are  aware,  I  be- 
lieve, that  Plato,  after  the  death  of  Socrates,  was  induced 
to  visit  Egypt  by  his  love  of  science,  and  that  after  that 
he  proceeded  to  Italy  and  Sicily,  from  his  desire  of  un- 
derstanding the  Pythagorean  dogmas ;  that  he  conversed 
much  with  Archytas  of  Tarentum  and  Timseus  of  Locris ; 

^  This  phenomenon  of  the  parhelion,  or  mock  sun,  which  so  puzzled 
Cicero's  interlocutors,  has  been  very  satisfactorily  explained  by  modem  sci- 
ence. The  parhelia  are  formed  by  the  reflection  of  the  sunbeams  on  a 
cloud  properly  situated.  They  usually  accompany  the  coronse,  or  lumi- 
nous circles,  and  are  placed  in  the  same  circumference,  and  at  the  same 
height.  Their  colors  resemble  that  of  the  rainbow ;  the  red  and  yellow 
are  towards  the  side  of  the  sun,  and  the  blue  and  violet  on  the  other. 
There  are,  however,  corona)  sometimes  seen  without  parhelia,  and  vice 
versa.  Parhelia  are  double,  triple,  etc.,  and  in  1629,  a  parhelion  of  five 
suns  was  seen  at  Home,  and  another  of  six  suns  at  Aries,  1G66. 


368  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

• 

that  he  collected  the  works  of  Philolaus ;  and  that,  find< 
ing  in  these  places  the  renown  of  Pythagoras  flourishing, 
he  addicted  himself  exceedingly  to  the  disciples  of  Pythag* 
eras,  and  their  studies ;  therefore,  as  he  loved  Socrates 
with  his  whole  heart,  and  wished  to  attribute  all  great 
discoveries  to  him,  he  interwove  the  Socratic  elegance 
and  subtlety  of  eloquence  with  somewhat  of  the  obscurity 
of  Pythagoras,  and  with  that  notorious  gravity  of  his  di- 
versified arts. 

XL  When  Scipio  had  spoken  thus,  he  suddenly  saw 
Lucius  Furius  approaching,  and  saluting  him,  and  em- 
bracing him  most  affectionately,  he  gave  him  a  seat  on  his 
own  couch.  And  as  soon  as  Publius  Rutilius,  the  worthy 
reporter  of  the  conference  to  us,  had  arrived,  when  we  had 
saluted  him,  he  placed  him  by  the  side  of  Tubero.  Then 
said  Furius,  What  is  it  that  you  are  about?  Has  our 
entrance  at  all  interrupted  any  conversation  of  yours? 
By  no  means,  said  Scipio,  for  you  yourself  too  are  in  the 
habit  of  investigating  carefully  the  subject  which  Tubero 
was  a  little  before  proposing  to  examine ;  and  our  friend 
Rutilius,  even  under  the  walls  of  Numantia,  was  in  the 
habit  at  times  of  conversing  with  me  on  questions  of  the 
same  kind.  What,  then,  was  the  subject  of  your  discus- 
sion ?  said  Philus.  We  were  talking,  said  Scipio,  of  the 
double  suns  that  recently  appeared,  and  I  wish,  Philus,  to 
hear  what  you  think  of  them. 

XII.  Just  as  he  was  speaking,  a  boy  announced  that 
La^lius  was  coming  to  call  on  him,  and  that  he  had  already 
left  his  house.  Then  Scipio,  putting  on  his  sandals  and 
robes,  immediately  went  forth  from  his  chamber,  and  when 
he  had  walked  a  little  time  in  the  portico,  he  met  Laelius, 
and  welcomed  him  and  those  that  accompanied  him,  name- 
ly, Spurius  Mummius,  to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached, 
and  C.  Fannius  and  Quintus  Sca3vola,  sons-in-law  of  Lseli- 
us,  two  very  intelligent  young  men,  and  now  of  the  qua3s- 
torian  age.^ 

When  he  had  saluted  them  all,  he  returned  through  the 
portico,  placing  Laelius  in  the  middle;  for  there  was  in 
their  friendship  a  sort  of  law  of  reciprocal  courtesy,  so 

»  There  U  n  little  uncertainty  as  to  what  this  age  was,  but  it  was  prob- 
ably about  twenty-five. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  369 

that  in  the  camp  Lielius  paid  Scipio  almost  divine  honors, 
on  account  of  his  emuient  renown  in  war  and  in  private 
life;  in  his  turn  Scipio  reverenced  Loelius,  even  as  a  father, 
because  he  was  older  than  himself. 

Then  after  they  had  exchanged  a  few  words,  as  they 
walked  up  and  down,  Scipio,  to  whom  their  visit  was  ex- 
tremely welcome  and  agreeable,  wished  to  assemble  them 
in  a  sunny  corner  of  the  gardens,  because  it  was  still  win- 
ter ;  and  when  tliey  had  agreed  to  this,  there  came  in  an- 
other friend,  a  learned  man,  much  beloved  and  esteemed 
by  all  of  them,  M.  MnniHus,  who,  after  having  been  most 
warmly  welcomed  by  Scipio  and  the  rest,  seated  himself 
next  to  La3lius. 

XIII.  Then  Philus,  commencing  the  conversation,  said  : 
It  does  not  appear  to  me  that  the  presence  of  our  new 
guests  need  alter  the  subject  of  our  discussion,  but  only 
that  it  should  induce  us  to  treat  it  more  philosophically, 
and  in  a  manner  more  worthy  of  our  increased  audience. 
What  do  you  allude  to?  said  Luelius;  or  what  was  the 
discussion  we  broke  in  upon  ?  Scipio  was  asking  me,  re- 
plied Philus,  what  I  thought  of  the  parhelion,  or  mock  sun, 
whose  recent  apparition  was  so  strongly  attested. 

Loeliiis.  Do  you  say  then,  my  Philus,  that  we  have  suf- 
ficiently examined  those  questions  which  concern  our  own 
houses  and  the  Commonwealth,  that  we  begin  to  investi- 
gate the  celestial  mysteries? 

And  Philus  replied :  Do  you  think,  then,  that  it  does 
not  concern  our  houses  to  know  what  happens  in  that  vast 
home  which  is  not  included  in  walls  of  human  fabrication, 
but  which  embraces  the  entire  universe  —  a  home  which 
the  Gods  share  with  us,  as  the  common  country  of  all  in- 
telligent beings  ?  Especially  when,  if  we  are  ignorant  of 
these  things,  there  are  also  many  great  practical  truths 
which  result  from  them,  and  which  bear  directly  on  the 
welfare  of  our  race,  of  which  we  must  be  also  ignorant. 
And  here  I  can  speak  for  myself,  as  well  as  for  you,  LaB- 
lius,  and  all  men  who  are  ambitious  of  wisdom,  that  the 
knowledge  and  consideration  of  the  facts  of  nature  are  by 
themselves  very  delightfuh 

Lcelius.  I  have  no  objection  to  the  discussion,  especial- 
ly as  it  is  holiday-time  with  us.     But  cannot  we  have  the 

16* 


3V0  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

pleasure  of  hearing  yen  resume  it,  or  are  we  come  too 
late? 

jPhilus.  We  have  not  yet  commenced  the  discussion, 
and  since  the  question  remains  entiie  and  unbroken,  I 
shall  have  the  greatest  pleasure,  my  LaeHus,  in  handing 
over  the  argument  to  you. 

JLcelius.  No,  I  had  much  rather  hear  you,  unless,  indeed, 
Manilius  tliinks  himself  able  to  compromise  the  suit  be- 
tween the  two  suns,  that  they  may  possess  heaven  as  joint 
sovereigns  without  intruding  on  each  other's  empire. 

Tlien  ManiUus  said :  Are  you  going,  Laelius,  to  ridicule 
a  science  in  which,  in  the  first  place,  I  myself  excel;  and, 
secondly,  without  which  no  one  can  distinguish  what  is 
his  own,  and  what  is  another's?  But  to  return  to  the 
point.  Let  us  now  at  present  listen  to  Philus,  who  seems 
to  me  to  have  started  a  greater  question  than  any  of  those 
that  have  engaged  the  attention  of  either  Publius  Mucius 
or  myself. 

Xiy.  Then  Philus  said:  I  am  not  about  to  bring  you 
anything  new,  or  anything  which  has  been  thought  over 
or  discovered  by  me  myself.  But  I  recollect  that  Caius 
Sulpicius  Gallus,  who  was  a  man  of  profound  learning,  as 
you  are  aware,  when  this  same  thing  was  reported  to  have 
taken  place  in  his  time,  while  he  was  staying  in  the  house 
of  Marcus  Marcellus,  who  had  been  his  colleague  in  the 
consulship,  asked  to  see  a  celestial  globe  which  Marcellus's 
grandfather  had  saved  after  the  capture  of  Syracuse  from 
that  magnificent  and  opulent  city,  without  bringing  to  his 
own  home  any  other  memorial  out  of  so  great  a  booty; 
which  I  had  often  heard  mentioned  on  account  of  the 
great  fame  of  Archimedes ;  but  its  appearance,  however, 
did  not  seem  to  me  particularly  striking.  For  that  other 
is  more  elegant  in  form,  and  more  generally  known,  which 
was  made  by  the  same  Archimedes,  and  deposited  by  the 
same  Marcellus  in  the  Temple  of  Virtue  at  Rome.  But 
as  soon  as  Gallus  had  begun  to  explain,  in  a  most  scien- 
tific manner,  the  principle  of  this  machine,  I  felt  that  the 
Sicilian  geometrician  must  have  possessed  a  genius  supe- 
rior to  anything  we  usually  conceive  to  belong  to  our  nat- 
ure. For  Gallus  assured  us  that  that  other  solid  and  com- 
pact globe  was  a  very  ancient  invention,  and  that  tlie  first 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  371 

model  had  been  originally  made  by  Thales  of  Miletus. 
That  afterward  Eudoxus  of  Cnidus,  a  disciple  of  Plato, 
had  traced  on  its  surface  the  stars  that  appear  in  the  sky, 
and  that  many  years  subsequently,  borrowing  from  Eudox- 
us'this  beautiful  design  and  representation,  Aratus  had  il- 
lustrated it  in  his  verses,  not  by  any  science  of  astronomy, 
but  by  the  ornament  of  poetic  description.  He  added  that 
the  figure  of  the  globe,  which  displayed  the  motions  of  the 
sun  and  moon,  and  the  five  planets,  or  wandering  stars, 
could  not  be  represented  by  the  primitive  solid  globe ;  and 
that  in  this  the  invention  of  Archimedes  was  admirable, 
because  he  had  calculated  how  a  single  revolution  should 
maintain  unequal  and  diversified  progressions  in  dissimilar 
motions.  In  fact,  when  Gallus  moved  this  globe,  we  ob- 
served that  the  moon  succeeded  the  sun  by  as  many  turns 
of  the  wheel  in  the  machine  as  days  in  the  heavens.  From 
whence  it  resulted  that  the  progress  of  the  sun  was  mark- 
ed as  in  the  heavens,  and  that  the  moon  touched  the  point 
where  she  is  obscured  by  the  earth's  shadow  at  the  instant 
the  sun  appears  opposite.^  *  *  * 

XV.  *  *  *  =^  I  had  myself  a  great  affection  for.  this  Gal- 
lus, and  I  know  that  he  was  very  much  beloved  and  es- 
teemed by  my  father  Paulus.  I  recollect  that  when  I  was 
very  young,  when  my  father,  as  consul,  commanded  in 
Macedonia,  and  we  were  in  the  camp,  our  army  was  seized 
with  a  pious  terror,  because  suddenly,  in  a  clear  night,  the 
bright  and  full  moon  became  eclipsed.  And  Gallus,  who 
was  then  our  lieutenant,  the  year  before  that  in  which  he 
was  elected  consul,  hesitated  not,  next  morning,  to  state 
in  the  camp  that  it  was  no  prodigy,  and  that  the  phenom- 
enon which  had  then  appeared  would  always  appear  at 
certain  periods,  when  the  sun  was  so  placed  that  he  could 
not  affect  the  moon  with  his  light. 

^  Cicero  here  gives  a  very  exact  and  correct  account  of  the  planeta- 
riura  of  Archimedes,  which  is  so  often  noticed  by  the  ancient  astrono- 
mers. It  no  doubt  corresponded  in  a  great  measure  to  our  modem 
phmetarium,  or  orrery,  invented  by  the  eurl  of  that  name.  This  elabo- 
rate machine,  whose  manufacture  requires  the  most  exact  and  critical 
science,  is  of  the  greatest  service  to  those  who  study  the  revohitions  of 
the  stars,  for  astronomic,  astrologic,  or  meteorologic  purposes. 

^  The  end  of  the  fourteenth  chapter  and  the  first  words  of  the  fifteenth 
are  lost  •.  but  it  is  plain  that  in  the  fifteenth  it  is  Scipio  who  is  speaking. 


372  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

But  do  you  mean,  said  Tubero,  that  he  dared  to  speak 
thus  to  men  ahnost  entirely  uneducated  and  ignorant? 

8ci]_no.  He  did,  and  with  great  *  *  *  for  his  opinion 
was  no  i-esult  of  insolent  ostentation,  nor  was  his  language 
unbecoming  the  dignity  of  so  wise  a  man :  indeed,  he  per- 
fornied  a  very  noble  action  in  thus  freeing  his  countrymen 
from  the  terrors  of  an  idle  superstition. 

XVI.  And  they  relate  that  in  a  similar  way,  in  the  great 
war  in  which  the  Athenians  and  Lacedaemonians  contend- 
ed with  such  violent  resentment,  the  famous  Pericles,  the 
first  man  of  his  country  in  credit,  eloquence,  and  political 
genius,  observing  the  Athenians  overwhelmed  with  an  ex- 
cessive alarm  during  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  which  caused 
a  sudden  darkness,  told  them,  what  he  had  learned  in  the 
school  of  Anaxagoras,  that  these  phenomena  necessarily 
happened  at  precise  and  regular  periods  when  the  body  of 
the  moon  was  interposed  between  the  sun  and  the  earth, 
and  that  if  they  happened  not  before  every  new  moon, 
still  they  could  not  possibly  happen  except  at  the  exact 
time  of  the  new  moon.  And  when  he  had  proved  this 
truth  by  his  reasonings,  he  freed  the  people  from  their 
alarms ;  for  at  that  period  the  doctrine  was  new  and  un- 
familiar that  the  sun  was  accustomed  to  be  eclipsed  by 
the  interposition  of  the  moon,  which  fact  they  say  that 
Thales  of  Miletus  was  the  first  to  discover.  Afterward 
my  friend  Ennius  appears  to  have  been  acquainted  with 
the  same  tlieory,  who,  wn-iting  about  350^  years  after  the 
foundation  of  Rome,  says,  "  In  the  nones  of  June  the  sun 
was  covered  by  the  moon  and  niglit."  The  calculations 
in  the  astronomical  art  have  attained  such  perfection  that 
from  that  day,  thus  described  to  us  by  Ennius  and  record- 
ed in  the  pontifical  registers,  the  anterior  eclipses  of  the 
sun  have  been  computed  as  far  back  as  the  nones  of  July 
in  the  reign  of  Romulus,  when  that  eclipse  took  place,  in 
the  obscurity  of  which  it  was  affirmed  that  Virtue  bore 
Romulus  to  heaven,  in  spite  of  the  perishable  nature  which 
carried  him  off  by  the  common  fate  of  humanity. 

'  There  is  evidently  some  eiTov  in  the  text  here,  for  Ennius  was  born 
515  A.U.C.,  was  a  personal  friend  of  the  elder  Afrieanns,  and  died  about 
675  A.u.c,  so  tliat  it  is  plain  that  we  ought  to  read  in  the  text  550, 
not  350. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  373 

XVII.  Then  said  Tubero:  Do  not  you  think,  Scipio, 
tliat  this  astronomical  science,  which  every  day  proves  so 
useful,  just  now  appeared  in  a  different  Hght  to  you,*  *  *  * 
which  the  rest  may  see.  Moreover,  who  can  think  any-f 
thing  in  human  affairs  of  brilliant  importance  who  has 
penetrated  this  starry  empire  of  the  gods?  Or  who  can 
tliink  anything  connected  with  mankind  long  who  has 
learned  to  estimate  the  nature  of  eternity?  or  glorious 
who  is  aware  of  the  insignificance  of  the  size  of  the  earth, 
even  in  its  whole  extent,  and  especially  in  the  portion 
which  men  inhabit?  And  when  we  consider  that  almost 
imperceptible  point  which  we  ourselves  occupy  unknown 
to  the  majority  of  nations,  can  we  still  hope  that  our  name 
and  reputation  can  be  widely  circulated  ?  And  then  our 
estates  and  edifices,  our  cattle,  and  the  enormous  treasures 
of  our  gold  and  silver,  can  they  be  esteemed  or  denomi- 
nated as  desirable  goods  by  him  who  observes  their  per- 
ishable profit,  and  their  contemptible  use,  and  their  uncer- 
tain domination,  often  falling  into  the  possession  of  the 
very  w^orst  men  ?  How  happy,  then,  ought  we  to  esteem 
that  man  who  alone  has  it  in  his  power,  not  by  the  law 
of  the  Romans,  but  by  the  privilege  of  philosophers,  to  en- 
joy all  things  as  his  own ;  not  by  any  civil  bond,  but  by 
the  common  right  of  nature,  which  denies  that  any  tiling  can 
really  be  possessed  by  any  one  but  him  who  understands 
its  true  nature  and  use;  who  reckons  our  dictatorships 
and  consulships  rather  in  the  rank  of  necessary  offices  than 
desirable  employments,  and  thinks  they  must  be  endured 
rather  as  acquittances  of  our  debt  to  our  country  than 
sought  for  the  sake  of  emolument  or  glory — the  man,  in. 
short,  who  can  apply  to  himself  the  sentence  which  Cato 
tells  us  my  ancestor  Af ricanus  loved  to  repeat,  "  that  he 
was  never  so  busy  as  when  he  did  nothing,  and  never  less 
solitary  than  when  alone." 

For  w^ho  can  believe  that  Dionysius,  when  after  every 
possible  effort  he  ravished  from  his  fellow-citizens  their 
liberty,  had  performed  a  nobler  work  than  Archimedes, 
when,  without  appearing  to  be  doing  anything,  he  manu- 
factured the  globe  which  we  have  just  been  describing? 

^  Two  pages  are  lost  here.     Afterward  it  is  again  Scipio  who  is 

speaking. 


874  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

Who  does  not  see  that  those  men  are  in  reality  more  soli. 
tary  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd,  find  no  one  with  whom 
they  can  converse  congenially  than  those  who,  without 
Avitnesses,  hold  communion  with  themselves,  and  enter 
into  the  secret  counsels  of  the  sagest  philosophers,  while 
they  delight  themselves  in  their  writings  and  discoveries? 
And  who  would  think  any  one  richer  than  the  man  who 
is  in  want  of  nothing  which  nature  requires;  or  more 
powerful  than  he  who  has  attained  all  that  she  has  need  of ; 
or  happier  than  he  who  is  free  from  all  mental  perturba- 
tion ;  or  more  secure  in  future  than  he  who  carries  all  his 
property  in  himself,  which  is  thus  secured  from  shipwreck? 
And  what  power,  what  magistracy,  what  royalty,  can  be 
preferred  to  a  wisdom  which,  looking  down  on  all  terres- 
trial objects  as  low  and  transitory  things,  incessantly  di- 
rects its  attention  to  eternal  and  immutable  verities,  and 
which  is  persuaded  that  though  others  are  called  men, 
none  are  really  so  but  those  who  are  refined  by  the  appro- 
priate acts  of  humanity? 

In  this  sense  an  expression  of  Plato  or  some  other  phi- 
losopher appears  to  me  exceedingly  elegant,  who,  when  a 
tempest  had  driven  his  ship  on  an  unknown  country  and 
a  desolate  shore,  during  the  alarms  with  wliich  their  ig- 
norance of  the  region  inspired  his  companions,  observed, 
they  say,  geometrical  figures  traced  in  the  sand,  on  which 
he  immediately  told  them  to  be  of  good  cheer,  for  he  had 
observed  the  indications  of  Man.  A  conjecture  he  de- 
duced, not  from  the  cultivation  of  the  soil  which  he  beheld, 
but  from  the  symbols  of  science.  For  this  reason,  Tubero, 
learning  and  learned  men,  and  these  your  favorite  studies, 
have  always  particularly  pleased  me. 

XVIII.  Then  La3lius  replied :  I  cannot  venture,  Scipio, 
to  answer  your  arguments,  or  to  [maintain  the  discussion 
either  against]  you,  Philus,  or  Manilius.^  *  *  * 

We  had  a  friend  in  Tubero's  father's  family,  who  in 
these  respects  may  serve  him  as  a  model. 

Sextus  so  wise,  and  ever  on  his  guard. 

Wise  and  cautious  indeed  he  was,  as  Ennius  justly  de- 
scribes him — not  because  he  searched  for  what  he  could 
^  Two  pages  are  lost  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  375 

never  find,  but  because  he  knew  how  to  answer  those  who 
prayed  for  deliverance  from  cares  and  difficulties.  It  is 
he  who,  reasoning  against  the  astronomical  studies  of  Gal- 
ium, used  frequently  to  repeat  these  words  of  Achilles  in 
the  Iphigenia  :^ 

They  note  the  astrologie  signs  of  heaven, 
Whene'er  the  goats  or  scorpions  of  great  Jove, 
Or  other  monstrous  names  of  brutal  forms, 
Rise  in  the  zodiac ;  but  not  one  regards 
The  sensible  facts  of  earth,  on  which  we  tread. 
While  gazing  on  the  starry  prodigies. 

He  used,  however,  to  say  (and  I  have  often  listened  to 
him  with  pleasure)  that  for  liis  part  he  thought  that  Ze- 
thus,  in  the  piece  of  Pacuvius,  was  too  inimical  to  learning. 
He  much  preferred  the  Neoptolemus  of  Ennius,  who  pro- 
fesses himself  desirous  of  philosophizing  only  in  modera- 
tion; for  that  he  did  not  think  it  right  to  be  wholly  de- 
voted to  it.  But  though  the  studies  of  the  Greeks  have  so 
many  charms  for  you,  there  are  others,  perhaps,  nobler  and 
more  extensive,  which  we  may  be  better  able  to  apply  to 
the  service  of  real  life,  and  even  to  political  affairs.  As  to 
these  abstract  sciences,  their  utility,  if  they  possess  any, 
lies  principally  in  exciting  and  stimulating  the  abilities  of 
youth,  so  that  they  more  easily  acquire  more  important  ac- 
complishments. 

XIX.  Then  Tubero  said :  I  do  not  mean  to  disagree 
with  you,  Lselius ;  but,  pray,  what  do  you  call  more  impor- 
tant studies  ? 

Lcelius.  I  will  tell  you  frankly,  though  perhaps  you  will 
think  lightly  of  my  opinion,  since  you  appeared  so  eager 
in  interrogating  Scipio  respecting  the  celestial  phenomena; 
but  I  happen  to  think  that  those  things  which  are  every 
day  before  our  eyes  are  more  particularly  deserving  of  our 
attention.  Why  should  the  child  of  Paulus  JEmilius,  the 
nephew  of  ^milius,  the  descendant  of  such  a  noble  family 
and  so  glorious  a  republic,  inquire  how  there  can  be  two 
suns  in  heaven,  and  not  ask  how  there  can  be  two  senates 
in  one  Commonwealth,  and,  as  it  were,  two  distinct  peo- 

^  Both  Ennius  and  Ncevius  wrote  tragedies  called  "  Iphigenia."  Mai 
thinks  the  text  here  corrupt,  and  expresses  some  doubt  whether  there  is 
a  quotation  here  at  all. 


376  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

pies  ?  For,  as  you  see,  the  death  of  Tiberius  Gracchus, 
and  the  whole  system  of  his  tribuneship,  has  divided  ono 
people  into  two  parties.  But  the  slanderers  and  the  ene- 
mies of  Scipio,  encouraged  by  P.  Crassus  and  Appius 
Claudius,  maintained,  after  the  death  of  these  two  chiefs, 
a  division  of  nearly  half  the  senate,  under  the  influence  of 
Metellus  and  Mucins.  Nor  would  they  permit  the  man* 
who  alone  could  have  been  of  service  to  help  us  out  of  our 
difliculties  during  the  movement  of  the  Latins  and  their  al- 
lies towards  rebellion,  violating  all  our  treaties  in  the  pres- 
ence of  factious  triumvirs,  and  creating  every  day  some 
fresh  intrigue,  to  the  disturbance  of  the  worthier  and 
wealthier  citizens.  This  is  the  reason,  young  men,  if  you 
will  listen  to  me,  why  you  should  regard  this  new  sun 
with  less  alarm ;  for,  whether  it  does  exist,  or  whether  it 
does  not  exist,  it  is,  as  you  see,  quite  harmless  to  us.  As 
to  the  manner  of  its  existence,  we  can  know  little  or  noth- 
ing ;  and  even  if  we  obtained  the  most  perfect  understand- 
ing of  it,  this  knowledge  would  make  us  but  little  wiser  or 
happier.  But  that  there  should  exist  a  united  people  and 
a  united  senate  is  a  thing  which  actually  may  be  brought 
about,  and  it  will  be  a  great  evil  if  it  is  not ;  and  that  it 
does  not  exist  at  present  we  are  aware ;  and  we  see  that 
if  it  can  be  effected,  our  lives  will  be  both  better  and  hap- 
pier. 

XX.  Then  Mucins  said  :  What,  then,  do  you  consider, 
ray  Lselius,  should  be  our  best  arguments  in  endeavoring 
to  bring  about  the  object  of  your  wishes? 

LobUus.  Those  sciences  and  arts  which  teach  us  how 
we  may  be  most  useful  to  the  State ;  for  I  consider  that 
the  most  glorious  office  of  wisdom,  and  the  noblest  proof 
and  business  of  virtue.  In  order,  therefore,  that  we  may 
consecrate  these  holidays  as  much  as  possible  to  conversa- 
tions which  may  be  profitable  to  the  Commonwealth,  let 
us  beg  Scipio  to  explain  to  us  what  in  his  estimation  ap- 
pears to  be  the  best  form  of  government.  Then  let  us 
pass  on  to  other  points,  the  knowledge  of  which  may  lead 
us,  as  I  hope,  to  sound  political  views,  and  unfold  the 
causes  of  the  dangers  which  now  threaten  us. 

XXI.  When  Philus,Manilius,  and  Muramius  had  all  ex- 

*  He  means  Scipio  himself. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  377 

pressed  their  great  approbation  of  this  idea'  *  *  *  I  have 
■ventured  [to  open  our  discussion]  in  this  way,  not  only 
because  it  is  but  just  that, on  State  politics  the  chief  man 
in  the  State  slioukl  be  the  principal  speaker,  but  also  be- 
cause I  recollect  tiiat  you,  Scipio,  were  fornierly  very  much 
in  the  habit  of  conversing  with  Panaetius  and  Polybius, 
two  Greeks,  exceedingly  learned  in  political  questions,  and 
that  you  are  master  of  many  arguments  by  which  you  prove 
that  by  far  the  best  condition  of  government  is  that  which 
our  ancestors  have  handed  down  to  us.  And  as  you,  there- 
fore, are  familiar  with  this  subject,  if  you  will  explain  to 
us  your  views  respecting  the  general  principles  of  a  state 
(I  speak  for  my  friends  as  well  as  myself),  we  shall  feel  ex- 
ceedingly obliged  to  you. 

XXII.  Then  Scipio  said  :  I  must  acknowledge  that  there 
is  no  subject  of  meditation  to  which  my  mind  naturally 
turns  with  more  ardor  and  intensity  than  this  very  one 
which  La^lius  has  proposed  to  us.  And,  indeed,  as  I  see 
that  in  every  profession,  every  artist  who  would  distinguish 
himself,  thinks  of,  and  aims  at,  and  labors  for  no  other  ob- 
ject but  that  of  attaining  perfection  in  his  art,  should  not 
I,  whose  main  business,  according  to  the  example  of  my 
father  and  my  ancestors,  is  the  advancement  and  right  ad- 
ministration of  government,  be  confessing  myself  more  in- 
dolent than  any  common  mechanic  if  I  were  to  bestow  on 
this  noblest  of  sciences  less  attention  and  labor  than  they 
devote  to  their  insignificant  trades?  However, I  am  nei- 
ther entirely  satisfied  with  the  decisions  which  the  great- 
est and  wisest  men  of  Greece  have  left  us ;  nor,  on  the  oth- 
er hand,  do  I  venture  to  prefer  my  own  opinions  to  theirs. 
Therefore,  I  must  request  you  not  to  consider  me  either 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  Grecian  literature,  nor  yet  disposed, 
especially  in  political  questions,  to  yield  it  the  pre-eminence 
over  our  own  ;  but  rather  to  regard  me  as  a  true-born  Ro- 
man, not  illiberally  instructed  by  the  care  of  my  father,  and 
inflamed  with  the  desire  of  knowledge,  even  from  my  boy- 
hood, but  still  even  more  familiar  with  domestic  precepts 
and  practices  than  the  literature  of  books. 

XXIII.  On  this  Philus  said:  I  have  no  doubt,  my 
Scipioj  that  no  one  is  superior  to  you  in  natural  genius, 

J  There  is  again  a  hiatus.     What  follows  is  spoken  by  La3lius. 


378  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

and  that  you  are  very  far  superior  to  every  one  in  the 
practical  experience  of  national  government  and  of  impor- 
tant business.  We  are  also  acquainted  with  the  course 
which  your  studies  have  at  all  times  taken ;  and  if,  as  you 
say,  you  have  given  so  much  attention  to  this  science  and 
art  of  politics,  we  cannot  be  too  much  obliged  to  La3lius 
for  introducing  the  subject :  for  I  trust  that  what  we  shall 
liear  from  you  will  be  far  more  useful  and  available  than 
all  the  writings  put  together  which  the  Greeks  have  writ- 
ten for  us. 

Then  Scipio  replied  :  You  are  raising  a  very  high  expec- 
tation of  my  discourse,  such  as  is  a  most  oppressive  bur- 
den to  a  man  who  is  required  to  discuss  grave  subjects. 

And  Philus  said :  Although  that  may  be  a  difficulty, 
my  Scipio,  still  you  will  be  sure  to  conquer  it,  as  you  al- 
ways do;  nor  is  there  any  danger  of  eloquence  failing  you, 
when  you  begin  to  speak  on  the  affairs  of  a  common- 
wealth. 

XXIV.  Then  Scipio  proceeded  :  I  will  do  what  you 
wish,  as  far  as  I  can ;  and  I  shall  enter  into  the  discussion 
under  favor  of  that  rule  which,  I  think,  should  .be  adopted 
by  all  persons  in  disputations  of  this  kind,  if  they  wish  to 
avoid  being  misunderstood ;  namely,  that  when  men  have 
agreed  respecting  the  proper  name  of  the  matter  under 
discussion,  it  should  be  stated  what  that  name  exactly 
means,  and  what  it  legitimately  includes.  And  when  that 
point  is  settled,  then  it  is  fit  to  enter  on  the  discussion ; 
for  it  will  never  be  possible  to  arrive  at  an  understand- 
ing of  what  the  character  of  the  subject  of  the  discussion 
is,  unless  one  first  understands  exactly  what  it  is.  Since, 
then,  our  investigations  relate  to  a  commonwealth,  we  must 
first  examine  what  this  name  properly  signifies. 

And  when  Lselius  had  intimated  his  approbation  of  this 
course,  Scipio  continued  :    . 

I  shall  not  adopt,  said  he,  in  so  clear  and  simple  a  man- 
ner that  system  of  discussion  which  goes  back  to  first 
principles ;  as  learned  men  often  do  in  this  sort  of  discus- 
sion, so  as  to  go  back  to  the  first  meeting  of  male  and  fe- 
male, and  then  to  the  first  birth  and  formation  of  the  first 
family,  and  define  over  and  over  again  what  there  is  in 
words,  and  in  how  many  manners  each  thing  is  stated. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  379 

For,  as  I  am  speaking  to  men  of  prudence,  who  have  act- 
ed with  the  greatest  glory  in  the  Commonwealtli,  both  in 
peace  and  war,  I  will  take  care 'not  to  allow  the  subject  of 
the  discussion  itself  to  be  clearer  than  my  explanation  of 
it.  Nor  have  I  undertaken  this  task  with  the  design  of 
examining  all  its  minuter  points,  like  a  school-master;  nor 
will  I  promise  you  in  the  following  discourse  not  to  omit 
any  single  particular. 

Then  Ltelius  said :  For  my  part,  I  am  impatient  for  ex- 
actly that  kind  of  disquisition  which  you  promise  us. 

XXV.  Well,  then,  said  Africanus,  a  commonwealth  is  a 
constitution  of  the  entire  people.  But  the  people  is  not 
every  association  of  men,  however  congregated,  but  the 
association  of  the  entire  number,  bound  together  by  the 
compact  of  justice,  and  the  communication  of  utility.  The, 
first  cause  of  this  association  is  not  so  much  the  weakness 
of  man  as  a  certain  spirit  of  congregation  which  naturally 
belongs  to  him.  For  the  human  race  is  not  a  race  of  iso- 
lated individuals,  wandering  and  solitary  ;  but  it  is  so  con- 
stituted that  even  in  the  affluence  of  all  things  [and  with-j 
out  any  need  of  reciprocal  assistance,  it  spontaneouslyj 
seeks  society]. 

XXVI.  [It  is  necessary  to  presuppose]  these  original 
seeds,  as  it  were,  since  we  cannot  discover  any  primary 
establishment  of  the  other  virtues,  or  even  of  a  common- 
wealth itself.  These  unions,  then,  formed  by  the  principle 
which  I  have  mentioned,  established  their  head- quarters 
originally  in  certain  central  positions,  for  the  convenience 
of  the  whole  population;  and  having  fortified  them  by 
natural  and  artificial  means,  they  called  this  collection  of 
houses  a  city  or  town,  distinguished  by  temples  and  pub- 
lic squares.  Every  people,  therefore,  which  consists  of 
such  an  association  of  the  entire  multitude  as  I  have  de- 
scribed, every  city  which  consists  of  an  assemblage  of  the 
people,  and  every  commonwealth  which  embraces  every 
member  of  these  associations,  must  be  regulated  by  a  cer- 
tain authority,  in  order  to  be  permanent. 

This  intelligent  authority  should  always  refer  itself  to 
that  grand  first  principle  which  established  the  Common- 
wealth. It  must  be  deposited  in  the  hands  of  one  supreme 
person,  or  intrusted  to  the  administration  of  certain  dele- 


380  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

gated  rulers,  or  undertaken  by  the  whole  multitude.  When 
the  direction  of  all  depends  on  one  person,  we  call  this  in- 
dividual a  king,  and  this  form  of  political  constitution  a 
kingdom.  When  it  is  in  the  power  of  privileged  delegates, 
the  State  is  said  to  be  ruled  by  an  aristocracy ;  and  when 
the  people  are  all  in  all,  they  call  it  a  democracy,  or  popu- 
lar constitution.  And  if  the  tie  of  social  affection,  which 
originally  united  men  in  political  associations  for  the  sake 
of  public  interest,  maintains  its  force,  each  of  these  forms 
of  government  is,  I  will  not  say  perfect,  nor,  in  my  opin- 
ion, essentially  good,  but  tolerable,  and  such  that  one  may 
accidentally  be  better  than  another :  either  a  just  and  wise 
king,  or  a  selection  of  the  most  eminent  citizens,  or  even 
the  populace  itself  (though  this  is  the  least  commendable 
form),  may,  if  there  be  no  interference  of  crime  and  cupid- 
ity, form  a  constitution  sufficiently  secure. 

XXVII.  But  in  a  monarchy  the  other  members  of  the 
State  are  often  too  much  deprived  of  public  counsel  and 
jurisdiction;  and  under  the  rule  of  an  aristocracy  the 
multitude  can  hardly  possess  its  due  share  of  liberty,  since 
it  is  allowed  no  share  in  the  public  deliberation,  and  no 
power.  And  when  all  things  are  carried  by  a  democracy, 
although  it  be  just  and  moderate,  yet  its  very  equality  is 
a  culpable  levelling,  inasmuch  as  it  allows  no  gradations 
of  rank.  Therefore,  even  if  Cyrus,  the  King  of  the  Per- 
sians, was  a  most  righteous  and  wise  monarch,  I  should 
still  think  that  the  interest  of  the  people  (for  this  is,  as  I* 
have  said  before,  the  same  as  the  Commonwealth)  could 
not  be  very  effectually  promoted  when  all  things  depended 
on  the  beck  and  nod  of  one  individual.  And  though  at 
present  the  people  of  Marseilles,  our  clients,  are  governed  , 
with  the  greatest  justice  by  elected  magistrates  of  the 
highest  rank,  still  there  is  always  in  this  condition  of  the 
people  a  certain  appearance  of  servitude ;  and  when  the 
Athenians,  at  a  certain  period,  having  demolished  their 
Areopagus,  conducted  all  public  affairs  by  the  acts  and 
decrees  of  the  democracy  alone,  their  State,  as  it  no  longer 
contained  a  distinct  gradation  of  ranks,  was  no  longer  able 
to  retain  its  original  fair  appearance. 

XXVIII.  I  have  reasoned  thus  on  the  three  forms  of 
government,  not  looking  on  them  in  their  disorganized 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  381 

and  confused  conditions,  but  in  their  proper  and  regular 
administration.  These  three  particular  forms,  however, 
contained  in  themselves,  from  the  first,  the  faults  and  de- 
fects I  have  mentioned;  but  they  have  also  other  danger-' 
ous  vices,  for  there  is  not  one  of  these  three  forms  of  gov- 
ernment which  has  not  a  precipitous  and  slippery  passage 
down  to  some  proximate  abuse.  For,  after  thinking  of 
that  endurable,  or,  as  you  will  have  it,  most  amiable  king, 
Cyrus — to  name  him  in  preference  to  any  one  else — then, 
to  produce  a  change  in  our  minds,  we  behold  the  barbar- 
ous Phalaris,  that  model  of  tyranny,  to  which  the  mo- 
narchical authority  is  easily  abused  by  a  facile  and  natural 
inclination.  And,  in  like  manner,  along-side  of  the  wise 
aristocracy  of  Marseilles,  we  might  exhibit  the  oligarchical 
faction  of  the  thirty  tyrants  which  once  existed  at  Athens. 
And,  not  to  seek  for  other  instances,  among  the  same 
Athenians,  we  can  show  you  that  when  unlimited  power 
was  cast  into  the  hands  of  the  people,  it  infiamed  the  fury 
of  the  multitude,  and  aggravated  that  universal  license 
which  ruined  their  State.^  *  *  * 

XXIX.  The  worst  condition  of  things  sometimes  results 
from  a  confusion  of  those  factious  tyrannies  into  which 
kings,  aristocrats,  and  democrats  are  apt  to  degenerate. 
For  thus,  from  these  diverse  elements,  there  occasionally 
arises  (as  I  have  said  before)  a  new  kind  of  government. 
And  wonderful  indeed  are  the  revolutions  and  periodical 
returns  in  natural  constitutions  of  such  alternations  and 
vicissitudes,  which  it  is  the  part  of  the  wise  politician  to 
investigate  with  the  closest  attention.  But  to  calculate 
their  approach,  and  to  join  to  this  foresight  the  skill  which 
moderates  the  course  of  events,  and  retains  in  a  steady 
hand  the  reins  of  that  authority  which  safely  conducts  the 
people  through  all  the  dangers  to  which  they  expose  them- 
selves, is  the  work  of  a  most  illustrious  citizen,  and  of  al- 
most divine  genius. 

There  is  a  fourth  kind  of  government,  therefore,  which, 
in  my  opinion,  is  preferable  to  all  these :  it  is  that  mixed 
and  moderate  government  which  is  composed  of  the  three 
particular  forms  which  I  have  already  noticed. 

XXX.  Lceliiis.  I  am  not  ignorant,  Scipio,  that  such  is 

'  Again  two  pages  are  lost. 


382  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

your  opinion,  for  I  have  often  heard  you  say  so.  But  I  do 
not  tlie  less  desire,  if  it  is  not  giving  you  too  much  trou- 
ble, to  hear  wliich  you  consider  the  best  of  these  three 
forms  of  commonwealths.  For  it  may  be  of  some  use  iu 
considering^  *  ♦  * 

XXXI.  *  *  '•'  And  each  commonwealth  corresponds  to 
the  nature  and  Avill  of  him  who  governs  it.  Therefore,  in 
no  other  constitution  than  that  m  which  the  people  exer- 
cise sovereign  power  has  liberty  any  sure  abode,  than  which 
there  certainly  is  no  more  desirable  blessing.  And  if  it  be 
not  equally  established  for  every  one,  it  is  not  even  liber- 
ty at  all.  And  how  can  there  be  this  character  of  equali- 
ty, I  do  not  say  under  a  monarchy,  where  slavery  is  least 
disguised  or  doubtful,  but  even  in  those  constitutions  in 
which  the  people  are  free  indeed  in  words,  for  they  give 
their  suffrages,  they  elect  officers,  they  are  canvassed  and 
solicited  for  magistracies ;  but  yet  they  only  grant  those 
things  which  they  are  obliged  to  grant  whether  they  will 
or  not,  and  which  are  not  really  in  their  free  power,  though 
others  ask  them  for  them  ?  For  they  are  not  themselves 
admitted  to  the  government,  to  the  exercise  of  public  au- 
thority, or  to  offices  of  select  judges,  which  are  permitted 
to  those  only  of  ancient  families  and  large  fortunes.  But 
in  a  free  people,  as  among  the  Rhodians  and  Athenians, 
there  is  no  citizen  who^  ♦  *  * 

XXXII.  *  *  *  No  sooner  is  one  man,  or  several,  elevated 
by  wealth  and  power,  than  they  say  that  *  *  *  arise  from 
their  pride  and  arrogance,  when  the  idle  and  the  timid 
give  way,  and  bow  down  to  the  insolence  of  riches.  But 
if  the  people  knew  how  to  maintain  its  rights,  then  they 
say  that  nothing  could  be  more  glorious  and  prosperous 
than  democracy;  inasmuch  as  they  themselves  would  be 
the  sovereign  dispensers  of  laws,  judgments,  war,  peace, 
public  treaties,  and,  finally,  of  the  fortune  and  life  of  each 
individual  citizen;  and  this  condition  of  things  is  the  only 
one  which,  in  their  opinion,  can  be  really  called  a  common- 
wealth, that  is  to  say,  a  constitution  of  the  people.  It  is 
on  this  principle  that,  according  to  them,  a  peo})le  often 
vindicates  its  liberty  from  the  domination  of  kings  and 

'  Asain  two  pages  arc  lost.  It  is  evident  that  Scipio  is  speaking 
again  in  caj).  xxxi.  "  Again  two  pay;es  are  lost. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  383 

noliles;  wliile,  on  the  other  hand,  kings  are  not  sought 
for  among  free  peoples,  nor  are  the  power  and  wealth 
of  aristocracies.  They  deny,  moreover,  that  it  is  fair  to 
reject  this  general  constitution  of  freemen,  on  account  of 
the  vices  of  the  unbridled  populace;  but  that  if  the  peo- 
ple be  united  and  inclined,  and  directs  all  its  efforts  to 
the  safety  and  freedom  of  the  community,  nothing  can  be 
stronger  or  more  unchangeable;  and  they  assert  that  this 
necessary  union  is  easily  obtained  in  a  republic  so  consti- 
tuted that  the  good  of  all  classes  is  the  same;  while  the 
conflicting  interests  that  prevail  in  other  constitutions  in- 
evitably produce  dissensions;  therefore,  say  they,  when 
the  senate  had  the  ascendency,  the  republic  had  no  stabil- 
ity ;  and  when  kings  possess  the  power,  this  blessing  is 
still  more  rare,  since,  as  Ennius  expresses  it, 

III  kingdoms  there's  no  faith,  and  little  love. 

Wherefore,  since  the  law  is  the  bond  of  civil  society,  and 
the  justice  of  the  law  equal,  by  what  rule  can  the  associa- 
tion of  citizens  be  held  together,  if  the  condition  of  the 
citizens  be  not  equal?  For  if  the  fortunes  of  men  cannot 
be  reduced  to  this  equality — if  genius  cannot  be  equally 
the  property  of  all — rights,  at  least,  should  be  equal  among 
those  who  are  citizens  of  the  same  republic.  For  what  is 
a  republic  but  an  association  of  rights  ?i  *  *  * 

XXXIII.  But  as  to  the  other  political  constitutions, 
these  democratical  advocates  do  not  think  they  are  wor- 
thy of  being  distinguished  by  the  name  which  they  claim. 
For  why,  say  they,  should  we  apply  the  name  of  king,  the 
title  of  Jupiter  the  Beneficent,  and  not  rather  the  title  of 
tyrant,  to  a  man  ambitious  of  sole  authority  and  power^ 
lording  it  over  a  degraded  multitude  ?  For  a  tyrant  may 
be  as  merciful  as  a  king  may  be  oppressive ;  so  that  the 
whole  difference  to  the  people  is,  whether  they  serve  an  in- 
dulgent master  or  a  cruel  one,  since  serve  some  one  they 
must.  But  how  could  Sparta,  at  the  period  of  the  boasted 
superiority  of  her  political  institution,  obtain  a  constant 
enjoyment  of  just  and  virtuous  kings,  Avhen  they  necessa- 
rily received  an  hereditary  monarch,  good,  bad,  or  indiffer- 
ent, because  he  happened  to  be  of  the  blood  royal?  As  to 
^  Again  two  pages  are  lost. 


384  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

aristocrats,  Who  will  endure,  say  they,  that  men  should 
distinguish  themselves  by  such  a  title,  and  that  not  by  the 
voice  of  the  people,  but  by  their  own  votes?  For  how  is 
such  a  one  judged  to  be  best  either  in  learning,  sciences, 
or  arts  ?^  *  *  'J' 

XXXiy.  *  *  *  If  it  does  so  by  hap-hazard,  it  will  be 
as  easily  upset  as  a  vessel  if  the  pilot  were  chosen  by  lot 
from  among  the  passengers.  But  if  a  people,  being  free, 
chooses  those  to  whom  it  can  trust  itself — and,  if  it  desires 
its  own  preservation,  it  will  always  choose  the  noblest — 
then  certainly  it  is  in  the  counsels  of  the  aristocracy  that 
the  safety  of  the  State  consists,  especially  as  nature  has  not 
only  appointed  that  these  superior  men  should  excel  the 
inferior  sort  in  high  virtue  and  courage,  but  has  inspired 
the  people  also  with  the  desire  of  obedience  towards  these, 
their  natural  lords.  But  they  say  this  aristocratical  State 
is  destroyed  by  the  depraved  opinions  of  men,  who,  through 
ignorance  of  virtue  (which,  as  it  belongs  to  few,  can  be 
discerned  and  appreciated  by  few),  imagine  that  not  only 
rich  and  powerful  men,  but  also  those  who  are  nobly  born, 
are  necessarily  the  best.  And  so  when,  through  this  pop- 
ular error,  the  riches,  and  not  the  virtue,  of  a  few  men  has 
taken  possession  of  the  State,  these  chiefs  obstinately  re- 
tain the  title  of  nobles,  though  they  want  the  essence  of 
nobility.  For  riches,  fame,  and  power,  without  wisdom 
and  a  just  method  of  regulating  ourselves  and  command- 
ing others,  are  full  of  discredit  and  insolent  arrogance; 
nor  is  there  any  kind  of  government  more  deformed  than 
that  in  which  the  wealthiest  are  regarded  as  the  noblest. 

But  when  virtue  governs  the  Commonwealth,  what  can 
be  more  glorious?  When  he  who  commands  the  rest  is 
himself  enslaved  by  no  lust  or  passion ;  when  he  himself 
exhibits  all  the  virtues  to  which  he  incites  and  educates 
the  citizens;  when  he  imposes  no  law  on  the  people  which 
he  does  not  himself  observe,  but  presents  his  life  as  a  liv- 
ing law  to  his  fellow-countrymen ;  if  a  single  individual 
could  thus  suffice  for  all, there  would  be  no  need  of  more; 
and  if  the  community  could  find  a  chief  ruler  thus  worthy 
of  all  their  suffrages,  none  would  require  elected  magis- 
trates. 

^  Here  four  pages  are  lost. 


ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH.  385 

It  was  the  difficulty  of  forming  plans  which  transferred 
the  government  from  a  king  into  the  hands  of  many ;  and 
the  error  and  temerity  of  the  people  likewise  transferred 
it  from  the  hands  of  the  many  into  those  of  the  few.  Thus, 
between  the  weakness  of  the  monarch  and  the  rashness 
of  the  multitude,  the  aristocrats  have  occupied  the  mid- 
dle place,  than  which  nothing  can  be  better  arranged  ;  and 
while  they  superintend  the  public  interest,  the  people  nec- 
essarily enjoy  the  greatest  possible  prosperity,  being  free 
from  all  care  and  anxiety,  having  intrusted  their  security 
to  others,  who  ought  sedulously  to  defend  it,  and  not  allow 
the  people  to  suspect  that  their  advantage  is  neglected  by 
their  rulers. 

For  as  to  that  equality  of  rights  which  democracies  so 
loudly  boast  of,  it  can  never  be  maintained;  for  the  peo- 
ple themselves,  so  dissolute  and  so  unbridled,  are  always 
inclined  to  flatter  a  number  of  demagogues ;  and  there  is 
in  them  a  very  great  partiality  for  certain  men  and  digni- 
ties, so  that  their  equality,  so  called,  becomes  most  unfair 
and  iniquitous.  For  as  equal  honor  is  given  to  the  most 
noble  and  the  most  infamous,  some  of  whom  must  exist  in 
every  State,  then  the  equity  which  they  eulogize  becomes 
most  inequitable — an  evil  which  never  can  happen  in  those 
states  which  are  governed  by  aristocracies.  These  rea- 
sonings, my  Lfelius,  and  some  others  of  the  same  kind,  are 
usually  brought  forward  by  those  that  so  highly  extol  this 
form  of  political  constitution. 

XXXV.  Then  Leelius  said :  But  you  have  not  told  us, 
Scipio,  which  of  these  three  forms  of  government  you 
yourself  most  approve. 

Scijno.  You  are  right  to  shape  your  question,  which  of 
the  tliree  I  most  approve,  for  there  is  not  one  of  them 
which  I  approve  at  all  by  itself,  since,  as  I  told  you,  I  pre- 
fer that  government  which  is  mixed  and  composed  of  all 
these  forms,  to  any  one  of  them  taken  separately.  But  if  I 
must  confine  myself  to  one  of  these  particular  forms  sim- 
ply and  exclusively,  I  must  confess  I  prefer  the  royal  one, 
and  praise  that  as  the  first  and  best.  In  this,  which  I  here 
choose  to  call  the  primitive  form  of  government,  I  find  the 
title  oi  father  attached  to  that  of  king,  to  express  that  he 
watches  over  the  citizens  as  over  his  children,  and  endeav- 

17 


386  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

ors  rather  to  preserve  them  in  freedom  than  reduce  them 
to  slavery.  So  that  it  is  more  advantageous  for  those  who 
are  insignificant  in  property  and  capacity  to  be  supported 
by  the  care  of  one  excellent  and  eminently  powerful  man. 
The  nobles  here  present  themselves,  who  profess  that  tliey 
can  do  all  this  in  much  better  style;  for  they  say  that 
there  is  much  more  wisdom  in  many  than  in  one,  and  at 
least  as  much  faith  and  equity.  And,  last  of  all,  come  the 
people,  who  cry  with  a  loud  voice  that  they  will  render 
obedience  neither  to  the  one  nor  the  few;  that  even  to 
brute  beasts  nothing  is  so  dear  as  liberty ;  and  that  all 
men  who  serve  either  kings  or  nobles  are  deprived  of  it. 
Thus,  the  kings  attract  us  by  affection,  the  nobles  by  talent, 
the  people  by  liberty;  and  in  the  comparison  it  is  hard  to 
choose  the  best. 

Loelius,  I  think  so  too,  but  yet  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
spatch the  other  branches  of  the  question,  if  you  leave  this 
primary  point  undetermined. 

XXXVI.  Scipio.  We  must  then,  I  suppose,  imitate 
Aratus,  who,  when  he  prepared  himself  to  treat  of  great 
things,  thought  himself  in  duty  bound  to  begin  with  Ju- 
piter. 

Jjcelius.  Wherefore  Jupiter?  and  what  is  there  in  this 
discussion  which  resembles  that  poem? 

Soipio.  Why,  it  serves  to  teach  us  that  we  cannot  bet- 
ter commence  our  investigations  than  by  invoking  him 
whom,  with  one  voice,  both  learned  and  unlearned  extol  as 
the  universal  king  of  all  gods  and  men. 

How  so  ?  said  La3lius. 

Do  you,  then,  asked  Scipio,  believe  in  nothing  which  is 
not  before  your  eyes?  whether  these  ideas  have  been  es- 
tablished by  the  chiefs  of  states  for  the  benefit  of  society, 
that  there  might  be  believed  to  exist  one  Universal  Mon- 
arch in  heaven,  at  whose  nod  (as  Homer  expresses  it)  all 
Olympus  trembles,  and  that  he  might  be  accounted  both 
king  and  father  of  all  creatures;  for  there  is  great  au- 
thority, and  there  are  many  witnesses,  if  you  choose  to  call 
all  many,  who  attest  that  all  nations  have  unanimously  rec- 
ognized, by  the  decrees  of  their  chiefs,  that  nothing  is  bet- 
ter than  a  king,  since  they  think  that  all  the  Gods  are  gov- 
erned by  the  divine  power  of  one  sovereign ;  or  if  avc  sus- 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  337 

pect  tliat  this  opinion  rests  on  the  error  of  the  ignorant, 
and  should  be  classed  among  the  fables,  let  us  listen  to 
those  universal  testimonies  of  erudite  men,  who  have,  as  it 
were,  seen  with  their  eyes  those  things  to  the  knowledge 
of  wliich  we  can  hardly  attain  by  report. 

What  men  do  you  mean  ?  said  La3lius. 

Those,  replied  Scipio,  who,  by  the  investigation  of  nat- 
ure, have  arrived  at  the  opinion  that  the  whole  universe 
[is  animated]  by  a  single  Mind.'  *  *  * 

XXXVII.  But  if  you  please,  my  Lailius,  I  will  bring 
forward  evidences  which  are  neither  too  ancient  nor  in 
any  respect  barbarous. 

Those,  said  Lselius,  are  what  I  want. 

Scipio.  You  are  aware  that  it  is  now  not  four  centuries 
since  this  city  of  ours  has  been  without  kings. 

Lmlius.  You  are  correct;  it  is  less  than  four  centuries. 

Scipio.  Well,  then,  what  are  four  centuries  in  the  age 
of  a  state  or  city  ?  is  it  a  long  time? 

Lcdius.  It  hardly  amounts  to  the  age  of  maturity. 

Scipio.  You  say  truly ;  and  yet  not  four  centuries  have 
elapsed  since  there  was  a  king  in  Rome. 

Lcdius.  And  he  was  a  proud  king. 

Scip)io.  But  who  was  his  predecessor? 

Laelius.  He  was  an  admirably  just  one;  and,  indeed,  we 
must  bestow  the  same  praise  on  all  his  predecessors  as  far 
back  as  Romulus,  who  reigned  about  six  centuries  ago. 

Scipio.  Even  he,  then,  is  not  very  ancient. 

Lcelius.  No;  he  reigned  when  Greece  was  already  be- 
coming old. 

Scipio.  Agreed.  Was  Romulus,  then,  think  you,  king 
of  a  barbarous  people  ? 

Lodius.  Why,  as  to  that,  if  we  were  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Greeks,  who  say  that  all  people  are  either 
Greeks  or  barbarians,  I  am  afraid  that  we  must  confess 
that  he  was  a  king  of  barbarians ;  but  if  this  name  be- 
longs rather  to  manners  than  to  languages,  then  I  believe  1 
the  Greeks  were  just  as  barbarous  as  the  Romans.  j 

Then  Scipio  said  :  But  with  respect  to  the  present  ques- 
tion, we  do  not  so  much  need  to  inquire  into  the  nation  as 
into  the  disposition.    For  if  intelligent  men,  at  a  period  so 
*  Here  four  pages  are  lost. 


388  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

little  remote,  desired  the  government  of  kings,  you  will 
confess  that  I  am  producing  authorities  that  are  neither 
antiquated,  rude,  nor  insignificant. 

XXXVIII.  Then  Ltelius  said:  I  see,  Scipio,  that  you 
are  very  sufficiently  provided  with  authorities ;  but  with 
me,  as  with  every  fair  judge,  authorities  are  worth  less 
than  arguments. 

Scipio  replied :  Then,  Ltelius,  you  shall  yourself  make 
use  of  an  argument  derived  from  your  own  senses. 

Lcdius.  What  senses  do  you  mean  ? 

Scipio.  The  feelings  which  you  experience  when  at  any 
time  you  happen  to  feel  angry  with  any  one. 

Lcelius.  That  happens  rather  oftener  than  I  could  wish. 

Scipio.  Well,  then,  when  you  are  angry,  do  you  permit 
your  anger  to  triumph  over  your  judgment? 

No,  by  Hercules!  said  La3lius;  I  imitate  the  famous  Ar- 
chytas  of  Tarentum,  who,  when  he  came  to  his  villa,  and 
found  all  its  arrangements  were  contrary  to  his  orders,  said 
to  his  steward,  "Ah  !  you  unlucky  scoundrel,  I  would  flog 
you  to  death,  if  it  were  not  that  I  am  in  a  rage  with  you.^' 

Capital,  said  Scipio.  Archytas,  then,  regarded  unrea- 
sonable anger  as  a  kind  of  sedition  and  rebellion  of  nature 
which  he  sought  to  appease  by  reflection.  And  so,  if  we 
examine  avarice,  the  ambition  of  power  or  of  glory,  or  the 
lusts  of  concupiscence  and  licentiousness,  we  shall  find  a 
certain  conscience  in  the  mind  of  man,  which,  like  a  king, 
sways  by  the  force  of  counsel  all  the  inferior  faculties  and 
propensities ;  and  this,  in  truth,  is  the  noblest  portion  of 
our  nature;  for  when  conscience  reigns,  it  allows  no  rest- 
ing-place to  lust,  violence,  or  temerity. 

JLcelius.  You  have  spoken  the  truth. 

jSci^no.  Well,  then,  does  a  mind  thus  governed  and  reg- 
ulated meet  your  approbation  ? 

Lmlius.  More  than  anything  upon  earth. 

Scipio.  Then  you  would  not  approve  that  the  evil  pas- 
sions, which  are  innumerable,  should  expel  conscience,  and 
that  lusts  and  animal  propensities  should  assume  an  as- 
cendency over  us? 

Lmlius.  For  my  part,  I  can  conceive  nothing  more 
wretched  than  a  mind  thus  degraded,  or  a  man  animated 
by  a  soul  so  licentious. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  389 

Scipio.  Yon  desire,  thenj  that  all  the  faculties  of  the 
mind  should  submit  to  a  ruling  power,  and  that  conscience 
should  reign  over  them  all  ? 

Lcelius.  Certainly,  that  is  my  wish. 

Scipio.  How,  then,  can  you  doubt  what  opinion  to  form 
on  the  subject  of  the  Commonwealth  ?  in  which,  if  the 
State  is  thrown  into  many  hands,  it  is  very  plain  that  there 
will  be  no  presiding  authority;  for  if  power  be  not  united, 
it  soon  comes  to  nothing. 

XXXIX.  Then  Laelius  asked:  But  what  difference  is 
there,  I  should  like  to  know,  between  the  one  and  the 
many,  if  justice  exists  equally  in  many? 

And  Scipio  said :  Since  I  see,  my  Laelius,  that  the  au- 
thorities I  have  adduced  have  no  great  influence  on  you,  I 
must  continue  to  employ  you  yourself  as  my  witness  in 
proof  of  what  I  am  saying. 

In  what  way,  said  Laelius,  are  you  going  to  make  me 
again  support  your  argument  ? 

Scipio.  Why,  thus :  I  recollect,  when  we  were  lately  at 
Forniiae,  that  you  told  your  servants  repeatedly  to  obey  the 
orders  of  more  than  one  master  only. 

Lcelius.  To  be  sure,  those  of  my  steward. 

Scipio.  What  do  you  at  home?  Do  you  commit  your 
affairs  to  the  hands  of  many  persons? 

Lcelius.  No,  I  trust  them  to  myself  .alone. 

Scijno.  Well,  in  your  whole  establishment,  is  there  any 
other  master  but  yourself? 

Lcelius.  Not  one. 

Scipio.  Then  I  think  you  must  grant  me  that,  as  re- 
spects the  State,  the  government  of  single  individuals,  pro- 
vided they  are  just,  is  superior  to  any  other. 

Loeliiis.  You  have  conducted  me  to  this  conclusion,  and 
I  entertain  very  nearly  that  opinion. 

XL.  And  Scipio  said :  You  would  still  further  agree 
with  me,  my  Lselius,  if,  omitting  the  common  comparisons, 
that  one  pilot  is  better  fitted  to  steer  a  ship,  and  a  physi- 
cian to  treat  an  invalid,  provided  they  be  competent  men 
in  their  respective  professions,  than  many  could  be,  I  should 
come  at  once  to  more  illustrious  examples. 

Lcelius.  What  examples  do  you  mean  ? 

Scipio.  Do  not  you  observe  that  it  was  the  cruelty  and 


390  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

])ride  of  one  single  Tarqiiin  only  that  made  the  title  of 
king  nnpopular  among  the  Romans? 

Lmlius.  Yes,  I  acknowledge  that. 

Scipio.  You  are  also  aware  of  this  fact,  on  which  I  think 
I  shall  debate  in  the  course  of  the  coming  discussion,  that 
after  the  expulsion  of  King  Tarquin,  the  people  was  trans- 
ported by  a  wonderful  excess  of  liberty.  Then  innocent 
men  were  driven  into  banishment ;  then  the  estates  of  many 
individuals  were  pillaged,  consulships  were  made  annual, 
public  authorities  were  overawed  by  mobs,  popular  appeals 
took  place  in  all  cases  imaginable;  then  secessions  of  the 
lower  orders  ensued,  and,  lastly,  those  proceedings  which 
tended  to  place  all  powers  in  the  hands  of  the  populace. 

Lmlius.  I  must  confess  this  is  all  too  true. 

Ail  these  things  now,  said  Scipio,  happened  during  pe- 
riods of  peace  and  tranquilHty,  for  license  is  wont  to  pre- 
vail when  there  is  little  to  feai-,  as  in  a  calm  voyage  or  a 
trifling  disease.  But  as  we  observe  the  voyager  and  the 
invalid  implore  the  aid  of  some  one  competent  director,  as 
soon  as  the  sea  grows  stormy  and  the  disease  alarming,  so 
our  nation  in  peace  and  security  commands,  threatens,  re- 
sists, appeals  from,  and  insults  its  magistrates,  but  in  war 
obeys  them  as  strictly  as  kings ;  for  public  safety  is,  after 
all,  rather  more  valuable  than  popular  license.  And  in  the 
most  serious  wars,  our  countrymen  have  even  chosen  the 
entire  command  to  be  deposited  in  the  hands  of  some  single 
chief,without  a  colleague;  the  very  name  of  which  magistrate 
indicates  the  absolute  character  of  his  power.  For  though 
he  is  evidently  called  dictator  because  he  is  appointed  {dici- 
tur),  yet  do  we  still  observe  him,  my  Laelius,  in  our  sacred 
books  entitled  Magister  Populi  (the  master  of  the  people). 

This  is  certainly  the  case,  said  La^lius. 

Our  ancestors,  therefore,  said  Scipio,  acted  wisely.^  ♦  *  * 

XLL  When  the  people  is  deprived  of  a  just  king,  as  En- 
nius  says,  after  the  death  of  one  of  the  best  of  monarchs, 

They  hold  his  memory  dear,  and,  in  the  warmth 
Of  tlieir  discoin-se,  they  cry,  O  Romuhis! 
O  prince  divine,  sprung  from  the  might  of  Mars 
To  be  thy  country's  guardian  !     O  our  sire  ! 
Be  our  protector  still,  O  heaven-begot ! 

'  Two  pages  are  missing  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  391 

Not  heroes,  nor  lords  alone,  did  they  call  those  whom 
they  lawfully  obeyed ;  nor  merely  as  kings  did  they  pro- 
claim them;  but  they  pronounced  them  their  country's 
guardians,  their  fathers,  and  their  Gods.  Nor,  indeed, 
without  cause,  for  they  added. 

Thou,  Prince,  hast  broiiglit  us  to  the  gates  of  light. 

And  truly  they  believed  that  life  and  honor  and  glory  had 
arisen  to  them  from  the  justice  of  their  king.  The  same 
good-will  would  doubtless  have  remained  in  their  descend- 
ants, if  the  same  virtues  had  been  preserved  on  the  throne ; 
but,  as  you  see,  by  the  injustice  of  one  man  the  whole  of 
that  kind  of  constitution  fell  into  ruin. 

I  see  it  indeed,  said  Lgelius,  and  I  long  to  know  the 
history  of  these  political  revolutions  both  in  our  own 
Commonwealth  and  in  every  other. 

XLII.  And  Scipio  said:  When  I  shall  have  explained 
my  opinion  respecting  the  form  of  government  which  I 
prefer,  I  shall  be  able  to  speak  to  you  more  accurately  re- 
specting the  revolutions  of  states,  though  I  think  that  such 
will  not  take  place  so  easily  in  the  mixed  form  of  govern- 
ment which  1  recommend.  With  respect,  however,  to  ab- 
solute monarchy,  it  presents  an  inherent  and  invincible 
tendency  to  revolution.  No  sooner  does  a  king  begin  to 
be  unjust  than  this  entire  form  of  government  is  demol- 
ished, and  he  at  once  becomes  a  tyrant,  which  is  the  worst 
of  all  governments,  and  one  very  closely  related  to  mon- 
archy. If  this  State  falls  into  the  hands  of  the  nobles, 
which  is  the  usual  course  of  events,  it  becomes  an  aris- 
tocracy, or  the  second  of  the  three  kinds  of  constitutions 
which  I  have  described;  for  it  is,  as  it  were,  a  royal — that 
is  to  say,  a  paternal — council  of  the  chief  men  of  the  State 
consulting  for  the  public  benefit.  Or  if  the  people  by  it- 
self has  expelled  or  slain  a  tyrant,  it  is  moderate  in  its 
conduct  as  long  as  it  has  sense  and  wisdom,  and  while  it 
rejoices  in  its  exploit,  and  applies  itself  to  maintaining 
the  constitution  which  it  has  established.  But  if  ever  the 
people  has  raised  its  forces  against  a  just  king  and  robbed 
him  of  his  throne,  or,  as  has  frequently  happened,  has 
tasted  the  blood  of  its  legitimate  nobles,  and  subjected 
the  whole  Commonwealth  to  its  own  license,  you  can  im- 


392  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

agine  no  flood  or  conflagration  so  terrible,  or  any  whose 
violence  is  harder  to  appease  than  this  unbridled  insolence 
of  the  populace. 

XLIII.  Then  we  see  realized  that  which  Plato  so  viv- 
idly describes,  if  I  can  but  express  it  in  our  language.  It 
is  by  no  means  easy  to  do  it  justice  in  translation  :  how- 
ever, I  will  try. 

When,  says  Plato,  the  insatiate  jaws  of  the  populace 
are  fired  Avith  the  thirst  of  liberty,  and  when  the  people, 
urged  on  by  evil  ministers,  drains  in  its  thirst  the  cup, 
not  of  tempered  liberty,  but  unmitigated  license,  then  the 
magistrates  and  chiefs,  if  they  are  not  utterly  subservient 
and  remiss,  and  shameless  promoters  of  the  popular  licen- 
tiousness, are  pursued,  incriminated,  accused,  and  cried 
down  under  the  title  of  despots  and  tyrants.  I  dare  say 
you  recollect  the  passage. 

Yes,  said  Lselius,  it  is  familiar  to  me. 

Scipio.  Plato  thus  proceeds:  Then  those  who  feel  in 
duty  bound  to  obey  the  chiefs  of  the  State  are  persecuted 
by  the  insensate  populace,  who  call  them  voluntary  slaves. 
But  those  who,  though  invested  with  magistracies,  wish 
to  be  considered  on  an  equality  with  private  individuals, 
and  those  private  individuals  who  labor  to  abolish  all  dis- 
tinctions between  their  own  class  and  the  magistrates,  are 
extolled  with  acclamations  and  overwhelmed  with  honors, 
so  that  it  inevitably  happens  in  a  commonwealth  thus  rev- 
olutionized that  liberalism  abounds  in  all  directions,  due 
authority  is  found  wanting  even  in  private  families,  and 
misrule  seems  to  extend  even  to  the  animals  that  witness 
it.  Then  the  father  fears  the  son,  and  the  son  neglects 
the  father.  All  modesty  is  banished;  they  become  far 
too  liberal  for  that.  No  difference  is  made  between  the 
citizen  and  the  alien ;  the  master  dreads  and  cajoles  his 
scholars,  and  the  scholars  despise  their  masters.  The 
young  men  assume  tlie  gravity  of  sages,  and  sages  must 
stoop  to  the  follies  of  children,  lest  they  should  be  hated 
and  oppressed  by  them.  The  very  slaves  even  are  under 
but  little  restraint;  wives  boast  the  same  rights  as  their 
husbands  ;  dogs,  horses,  and  asses  are  emancipated  in  this 
outrageous  excess  of  freedom,  and  run  about  so  violent- 
ly that  they  frighten  the  passengers  from  the  road.     At 


ON   THE  COMMONWEALTH.  393 

length  the  termination  of  all  this  infinite  licentiousness  is, 
that  tlie  minds  of  the  citizens  become  so  fastidious  and 
effeminate,  that  when  they  observe  even  the  slightest  ex- 
ertion of  authority  they  grow  angry  and  seditious,  and 
thus  the  laws  begin  to  be  neglected,  so  that  the  people  are 
absolutely  witliout  any  master  at  all. 

Then  Lailius  said:  You  have  very  accurately  rendered 
tlie  opinions  wliicli  lie  expressed. 

XLIV.  Scipio,  Now,  to  return  to  the  argument  of  my 
discourse.  It  appears  that  this  extreme  license,  which  is 
the  only  liberty  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar,  is,  according  to 
Plato,  such  that  from  it  ns  a  sort  of  root  tyrants  natural- 
ly arise  and  spring  up.  For  as  the  excessive  power  of  an 
aristocracy  occasions  the  destruction  of  the  nobles,  so  this 
excessive  liberalism  of  democracies  brings  after  it  the 
slavery  of  the  people.  Thus  we  find  in  the  weather,  the 
soil,  and  the  animal  constitution  the  most  favorable  con- 
ditions are  sometimes  suddenly  converted  by  their  excess 
into  the  contrary,  and  this  fact  is  especially  observable 
in  political  governments;  and  this  excessive  liberty  soon 
brings  the  people  collectively  and  individually  to  an  ex- 
cessive servitude.  For,  as  I  said,  this  extreme  liberty  easi- 
ly introduces  the  reign  of  tyranny,  the  severest  of  all  un- 
just slaveries.  In  fact,  from  the  midst  of  this  unbridled 
and  capricious  populace,  they  elect  some  one  as  a  leader 
in  opposition  to  their  afflicted  and  expelled  nobles :  some 
new  chief,  forsooth,  audacious  and  impure,  often  insolent- 
ly persecuting  those  who  have  deserved  well  of  the  State, 
and  ready  to  gratify  the  populace  at  his  neighbor's  ex- 
pense as  well  as  his  own.  Then,  since  the  private  condi- 
tion is  naturally  exposed  to  fears  and  alarms,  the  people 
invest  him  with  many  powers,  and  these  are  continued  in 
his  hands.  Such  men,  like  Pisistratus  of  Athens,  will 
soon  find  an  excuse  for  surrounding  themselves  with 
body-guards,  and  they  will  conclude  by  becoming  tyrants 
over  the  very  persons  who  raised  tliem  to  dignity.  If 
such  despots  perish  by  the  vengeance  of  the  better  citi- 
zens, as  is  generally  the  case,  the  constitution  is  re-estab- 
lished ;  but  if  they  fall  by  the  hands  of  bold  insurgents, 
then  the  same  faction  succeeds  them,  which  is  only  anoth- 
er species  of  tyranny.     And  the  same  revolution  arises 


394  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

from  tlie  fair  system  of  aristocracy  when  any  corruption^ 
has  betrayed  the  nobles  from  the  path  of  rectitude.  Thus 
the  power  is  Hke  the  ball  which  is  flung  from  liand  to 
hand :  it  passes  from  kings  to  tyrants,  from  tyrants  to  the 
aristocracy,  from  them  to  democracy,  and  from  these  back 
again  to  tyrants  and  to  factions;  and  thus  the  same  kind 
of  government  is  seldom  long  maintained. 

XLV.  Since  these  are  the  facts  of  experience,  royalty 
is,  in  my  opinion,  very  far  preferable  to  the  three  other 
kinds  of  i)olitical  constitutions.  But  it  is  itself  inferior 
to  that  which  is  composed  of  an  equal  mixture  of  the  three 
best  forms  of  government,  united  and  modified  by  one  an- 
other. I  wish  to  establish  in  a  commonwealth  a  royal  and- 
pre-eminent  chief.  Another  portion  of  power  should  be 
deposited  in  the  hands  of  the  aristocracy,  and  certain 
things  should  be  reserved  to  the  judgment  and  wish  of 
the  multitude.  This  constitution,  in  the  first  place,  pos- 
sesses that  great  equality  without  which  men  cannot  long 
maintain  their  freedom ;  secondly,  it  offers  a  great  stabili- 
ty, while  the  particular  separate  and  isolated  forms  easily 
fall  into  their  contraries;  so  that  a  king  is  succeeded  by  a 
despot,  an  aristocracy  by  a  faction,  a  democracy  by  a  mob 
and  confusion ;  and  all  these  forms  are  frequently  sacri- 
ficed to  new  revolutions.  In  this  united  and  mixed  consti- 
tution, however,  similar  disasters  cannot  happen  without 
the  greatest  vices  in  public  men.  For  there  can  be  little 
to  occasion  revolution  in  a  state  in  which  every  person  is 
firmly  established  in  his  appropriate  rank,  and  there  are 
but  few  modes  of  corruption  into  wdiich  we  can  fall. 

XL VI.  But  I  fear,  Lselius,  and  you,  my  amiable  and 
learned  friends,  that  if  I  were  to  dwell  any  longer  on  this 
argument,  my  words  would  seem  rather  like  the  lessons  of 
a  master,  and  not  like  the  free  conversation  of  one  who  is 
uniting  with  you  in  the  consideration  of  truth.  I  shall 
therefore  pass  on  to  those  things  which  are  familiar  to  all, 
and  which  I  have  long  studied.  And  in  these  matters  I 
believe,  I  feel,  and  I  afiirni  that  of  all  governments  there 
is  none  which,  either  in  its  entire  constitution  or  the  dis- 
tribution of  its  parts,  or  in  the  discipline  of  its  manners, 
is  comparable  to  that  which  our  fathers  received  from  our 
tarliest  ancestors,  and  which  they  have  handed  down  to 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  395 

us.  And  since  you  wisli  to  hear  from  me  a  development 
of  this  constitution,  with  which  you  are  all  acquainted,  I 
shall  endeavor  to  explain  its  true  character  and  excellence. 
Thus  keeping  ray  eye  fixed  on  the  model  of  our  Roman 
Commonwealth,  I  shall  endeavor  to  accommodate  to  it  all 
that  I  have  to  say  on  the  best  form  of  government.  And 
by  treating  the  subject  in  this  way,  I  think  I  shall  be  able 
to  accomplish  most  satisfactorily  the  task  which  Lailius 
has  imposed  on  me. 

XL VII.  LcbUus.  It  is  a  task  most  properly  and  pecul- 
iarly your  own,  my  Scipio ;  for  who  can  speak  so  well  as 
you  either  on  the  subject  of  the  institutions  of  our  ances- 
tors, since  you  yourself  are  descended  from  most  illustri- 
ous ancestors,  or  on  that  of  the  best  form  of  a  constitution 
which,  if  we  possess  (though  at  this  moment  we  do  not, 
still),  when  we  do  possess  such  a  thing,  who  will  be  more 
flourishing  in  it  than  you?  or  on  that  of  providing  coun- 
sels for  tlie  future,  as  you,  who,  by  dispelling  two  mighty 
perils  from  our  city,  have  provided  for  its  safety  for^^ver? 


FRAGMENTS. 

XLVIII.  As  our  country  is  the  source  of  the  greatest 
benefits,  and  is  a  parent  dearer  than  those  who  have  given 
us  life,  we  owe  her  still  warmer  gratitude  than  belongs  to 
our  human  relations.  *  *  * 

Nor  w^ould  Carthage  have  continued  to  flourish  during 
six  centuries  without  wisdom  and  good  institutions.  *  *  * 

In  truth,  says  Cicero,  although  the  reasonings  of  those 
men  may  contain  most  abundant  fountains  of  science  and 
virtue ;  still,  if  we  compare  them  with  the  achievements 
and  complete  actions  of  statesmen,  they  will  seem  not  to 
have  been  of  so  much  service  in  the  actual  business  of  men 
as  of  amusement  for  their  leisure. 


396  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SECOND  BOOK, 

BY  THE   ORIGINAL  TRANSLATOR. 

In  this  second  book  of  his  Commonwealth,  Cicero  gives  us  a  spirited 
and  eloquent  review  of  the  history  and  successive  developments  of 
the  Roman  constitution.  He  bestows  the  warmest  praises  on  its  early 
kings,  points  out  the  great  advantages  which  had  resulted  from  its 
primitive  monarchical  system,  and  explains  how  that  system  had  been 
gradually  broken  up.  In  order  to  prove  the  importance  of  reviving 
it,  he  gives  a  glowing  picture  of  the  evils  and  disasters  that  had  be- 
fallen the  Roman  State  in  consequence  of  that  overcharge  of  demo- 
cratic folly  and  violence  which  had  gradually  gained  an  alarming  pre- 
ponderance, and  describes,  with  a  kind  of  prophetic  sagacity,  tlie  fruit 
of  his  political  experience,  the  subsequent  revolutions  of  the  Roman 
State,  which  such  a  state  of  things  would  necessarily  bring  about. 


BOOK  11. 

I.  [When,  therefore,  lie  observed  all  his  friends  kindled 
with  the  dejsire  of  hearing  him,  Scipio  thus  opened  the 
discussion.  I  will  commence,  said  Scipio,  with  a  senti- 
ment of  old  Cato,  whom,  as  you  know,  I  singularly  loved 
and  exceedingly  admired,  and  to  whom,  in  compliance  with 
the  judgment  of  both  my  parents,  and  also  by  my  own  de- 
sire, I  was  entirely  devoted  during  my  youth ;  of  whose 
discourse,  indeed,  I  could  never  have  enough,  so  much 
experience  did  he  possess  as  a  statesman  respecting  the 
republic  which  he  had  so  long  governed,  both  in  peace 
and  wai",  with  so  much  success.  There  was  also  an  ad- 
mirable propriety  in  his  style  of  conversation,  in  which 
wit  was  tempered  with  gravity;  a  wonderful  aptitude  for 
acquiring,  and  at  the  same  time  communicating,  informa- 
tion ;  and  his  life  was  in  perfect  correspondence  and  uni- 
son with  his  language.  lie  used  to  say  that  the  govern- 
ment of  Rome  was  superior  to  that  of  other  states  for  this 
reason,  because  in  nearly  all  of  them  tliere  had  been  single 
individuals,  each  of  whom  had  regulated  their  common- 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  397 

wealth  according  to  their  own  laws  and  their  own  ordi- 
nances. So  Minos  had  done  in  Crete,  and  Lycurgus  in 
Sparta;  and  in  Athens,  which  experienced  so  many  rev- 
olutions, first  Theseus,  then  Draco,  then  Solon,  then  Clis- 
thones,  afterward  many  others;  and,  lastly,  when  it  was 
almost  lifeless  and  quite  prostrate,  that  great  and  wise 
man,  Demetrius  Phalereus,  supported  it.  J>ut  our  llo- 
maii  constitution,  on  the  contrary,  did  not  spring  from  the 
genius  of  one  individual,  but  from  that  of  many;  and  it 
was  established,  not  in  the  lifetime  of  one  man,  but  in  the 
course  of  several  ages  and  centuries.  For,  added  he,  there 
never  yet  existed  any  genius  so  vast  and  comprehensive  as 
to  allow  nothing  at  any  time  to  escape  its  attention ;  and 
all  the  geniuses  in  the  world  united  in  a  single  mind  could 
never,  within  the  limits  of  a  single  life,  exert  a  foresight 
sufficiently  extensive  to  embrace  and  harmonize  all,  with- 
out the  aid  of  experience  and  practice. 

Thus,  according  to  Cato's  usual  habit,  I  now  ascend  in 
my  discourse  to  the  "  origin  of  the  people,"  for  I  like  to 
adopt  the  expression  of  Cato.  I  shall  also  more  easily  ex- 
ecute my  proposed  task  if  I  thus  exhibit  to  you  our  polit- 
ical constitution  in  its  infancy,  progress,  and  maturity,  now 
so  firm  and  fully  established,  than  if,  alter  the  example  of 
Socrates  in  the  books  of  Plato,  I  were  to  delineate  a  mere 
imaginary  republic. 

II.  When  all  had  signified  their  approbation,  Scipio  re- 
sumed :  What  commencen.ient  of  a  political  constitution 
can  we  conceive  more  brilliant,  or  more  universally  known, 
than  the  foundation  of  Rome  by  the  hand  of  Komulus? 
And  he  was  the  son  of  Mars :  for  we  may  grant  this  much 
to  the  common  report  existing  among  men,  especially  as 
it  is  not  merely  ancient,  but  one  also  which  has  been  wise- 
ly maintained  by  our  ancestors,  in  order  that  those  who 
have  done  great  service  to  communities  may  enjoy  the 
reputation  of  having  received  from  the  Gods,  not  only 
their  genius,  but  their  very  birth. 

It  is  related,  then,  that  soon  after  the  birth  of  Romulus 
and  his  brother  Remus,  Amulius,  King  of  Alba,  fearing 
that  they  might  one  day  undermine  his  authority,  ordered 
that  they  should  be  exposed  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber; 
and  that  in  this  situation  the  infant  Ronmlus  was  stickled 


398  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

by  a  wild  beast:  tliat  he  was  afterward  educated  by  the 
shepherds,  and  brought  up  in  the  rough  way  of  living  and 
labors  of  the  countrymen ;  and  that  lie  acquired,  when  he 
grew  up,  such  superiority  over  the  rest  by  the  vigor  of  his 
body  and  tlic  courage  of  his  soul,  that  all  the  people  who 
at  that  time  inhabited  the  plains  in  the  midst  of  which 
Rome  now  stands,  trauquilly  and  willingly  submitted  to 
his  government.  And  when  he  had  made  himself  the 
chief  of  those  bands,  to  come  from  fables  to  facts,  he  took 
Alba  Longa,  a  powerful  and  strong  city  at  that  time,  and 
slew  its  king,  Amulius. 

III.  Having  acquired  this  glory,  he  conceived  the  design 
(as  they  tell  us)  of  founding  a  new  city  and  establishing  a 
new  state.  As  respected  the  site  of  his  new  city,  a  point 
which  requires  the  greatest  foresight  in  him  who  would 
lay  the  foundation  of  a  durable  commonwealth,  he  chose 
the  most  convenient  possible  position.  For  he  did  not  ad- 
vance too  near  the  sea,  which  he  miglit  easily  have  done 
with  the  forces  under  liis  command,  either  by  entering  the 
territory  of  the  Kutuli  and  Aborigines,  or  by  founding  his 
citadel  at  the  mouth  ot  the  Tiber,  where  many  years  after 
Ancus  Martins  established  a  colony.  But  Romulus,  with 
admirable  genius  and  foresight,  observed  and  perceived 
that  sites  very  near  the  sea  are  not  the  most  favorable 
positions  for  cities  which  would  attain  a  durable  prosperi- 
ty and  dominion.  And  this,  first,  because  maritime  cities 
are  always  exposed,  not  only  to  many  attacks,  but  to  per- 
ils they  cannot  provide  against.  For  the  continued  land 
gives  notice,  by  many  indications,  not  only  of  any  regular 
approaches,  but  also  of  any  sudden  surprises  of  an  ene- 
my, and  announces  them  beforehand  by  the  mere  sound. 
There  is  no  adversary  who,  on  an  inland  territory,  can  ar- 
rive so  swiftly  as  to  prevent  our  knowing  not  only  his  ex- 
istence, but  his  character  too,  and  where  he  comes  from. 
But  a  maritime  and  naval  enemy  can  fall  upon  a  town 
on  the  sea-coast  before  any  one  suspects  that  he  is  about 
to  come ;  and  when  he  does  come,  nothing  exterior  indi- 
cates who  he  is,  or  whence  he  comes,  or  what  he  wishes ; 
nor  can  it  even  be  determined  and  distinguished  on  all  oc- 
casions whether  he  is  a  friend  or  a  foe. 

IV.  I3ut  maritime  cities  are  likewise  naturally  exposed 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  399 

to  corrupt  influences,  and  revolutions  of  manners.  Their 
civilization  is  more  or  less  adulterated  by  new  languages 
and  customs,  and  they  import  not  only  foreign  merchan- 
dise, but  foreign  fashions,  to  such  a  degree  that  nothing 
can  continue  unalloyed  in  the  national  institutions.  Those 
who  inhabit  these  maritime  towns  do  not  remain  in  tlieir 
native  place,  but  are  urged  afar  from  their  homes  by 
winged  hope  and  speculation.  And  even  when  they  do 
not  desert  their  country  in  person,  still  their  minds  are  al- 
ways expatiating  and  voyaging  round  the  world. 

Nor,  indeed,  was  there  any  cause  which  more  deeply 
undermined  Corinth  and  Carthage,  and  at  last  overthrew 
them  both,  than  this  wandering  and  dispersion  of  their 
citizens,  whom  the  passion  of  commerce  and  navigation 
had  induced  to  abandon  the  cultivation  of  their  lands  and 
their  attention  to  military  pursuits. 

The  proximity  of  the  sea  likewise  administers  to  mari- 
time cities  a  multitude  of  pernicious  incentives  to  luxury, 
which  are  either  acquired  by  victory  or  imported  by  com- 
merce ;  and  the  very  agreeableness  of  their  position  nour- 
ishes many  expensive  and  deceitful  gratifications  of  the 
passions.  And  what  I  have  spoken  of  Corinth  may  be 
applied,  for  aught  I  know,  without  incorrectness  to  the 
wliole  of  Greece.  For  the  Peloponnesus  itself  is  almost 
wholly  on  the  sea-coast ;  nor,  besides  the  Phliasians,  are 
there  any  whose  lands  do  not  touch  the  sea;  and  beyond 
the  Peloponnesus,  the  ^nianes,  the  Dorians,  and  the  Dol- 
opes  are  the  only  inland  people.  Why  should  I  speak  of 
the  Grecian  islands,  which,  girded  by  the  waves,  seem  all 
afloat,  as  it  were,  together  with  the  institutions  and  man- 
ners of  their  cities?  And  these  things,  I  have  before  no- 
ticed, do  not  respect  ancient  Greece  only;  for  which  of  all 
those  colonies  which  have  been  led  from  Greece  into  Asia, 
Thracia,  Italy,  Sicily,  and  Africa,  with  the  single  exception 
of  Magnesia,  is  there  that  is  not  washed  by  the  sea?  Thus 
it  seems  as  if  a  sort  of  Grecian  coast  had  been  annexed  to 
territories  of  the  barbarians.  For  among  the  barbarians 
themselves  none  were  heretofore  a  maritime  people,  if  we 
except  the  Carthaginians  and  Etruscans ;  one  for  the  sake 
of  commerce,  the  other  of  pillage.  And  this  is  one  evi- 
dent reason  of  the  calamities  and  revolutions  of  Greece, 


400  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

because  she  became  infected  with  the  vices  which  belong 
to  maritime  cities,  which  I  just  now  briefly  enumerated. 
But  yet,  notwithstanding  these  vices,  they  have  one  great 
advantage,  and  one  which  is  of  universal  appHcation, 
namely,  that  there  is  a  great  facility  for  new  inhabitants 
flocking  to  them.  And,  again,  that  the  inhabitants  are  en- 
abled to  export  and  send  abroad  the  produce  of  their  na- 
tive lands  to  any  nation  they  please,  which  offers  them  a 
market  for  their  goods. 

V.  By  what  divine  wisdom,  then,  could  Romulus  em- 
brace all  the  benefits  that  could  belong  to  maritime  cities, 
and  at  the  same  time  avoid  the  dangers  to  which  they  are 
exposed,  except,  as  he  did,  by  building  his  city  on  the 
bank  of  an  inexliaustible  river,  whose  equal  current  dis- 
charges itself  into  the  sea  by  a  vast  mouth,  so  that  the 
city  could  receive  all  it  Avanted  from  the  sen,  and  discharge 
its  superabundant  commodities  by  the  same  channel  ?  And 
in  the  same  river  a  communication  is  found  by  which  it 
not  only  receives  from  the  sea  all  the  productions  neces- 
sary to  the  conveniences  and  elegances  of  life,  but  those 
also  which  are  brought  fi'om  tlie  inland  districts.  So  that 
Romulus  seems  to  me  to  have  divined  and  anticipated 
tliat  this  city  would  one  day  become  the  centre  and  abode 
of  a  powerful  and  opulent  empire;  for  there  is  no  other 
part  of  Italy  in  which  a  city  could  be  situated  so  as  to  be 
able  to  maintain  so  wide  a  dominion  with  so  much  ease. 

VI.  As  to  the  natural  fortifications  of  Rome,  who  is  so 
negligent  and  unobservant  as  not  to  have  them  depicted 
and  deeply  stamped  on  his  memory?  Such  is  the  plan 
and  direction  of  the  walls,  which,  by  the  prudence  of 
Romulus  and  his  royal  successors,  are  bounded  on  all 
sides  by  steep  and  rugged  hills;  and^the  only  aperture 
between  the  Esquiline  and  Quirinal  mountains  is  enclosed 
by  a  formidable  rampart,  and  surrounded  by  an  immense 
fosse.  And  as  for  our  fortified  citadel,  it  is  so  secured  by 
a  precipitous  barrier  and  enclosure  of  rocks,  that,  even  in 
that  horrible  attack  and  invasion  of  the  Gauls,  it  remained 
im})regnable  and  inviolable.  Moreover,  the  site  which  he 
selected  had  also  an  abundance  of  fountains,  and  was 
healthy,  though  it  was  in  the  midst  of  a  pestilential  re- 
gion ;   for  there  are  hills  which  at  once  create  a  current 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  401 

of  fresh  air,  and  fling  an  agreeable  shade  over  the  val- 
leys. 

VIL  These  things  he  effected  with  wonderful  rapidity, 
and  thus  established  the  city,  whicli,  from  his  own  name 
Ronuilus,  he  determined  to  call  Rome.  And  in  order  to 
strengthen  his  new  city,  he  conceived  a  design,  singular 
enough,  and  even  a  little  rude,  yet  worthy  of  a  great  man, 
and  of  a  genius  which  discerned  far  away  in  futurity  the 
means  of  strengthening  his  power  and  his  people.  The 
young  Sabine  females  of  honorable  birth  who  had  come  to 
Rome,  attracted  by  the  public  games  and  spectacles  which 
Romulus  then,  for  the  first  time,  established  as  annual 
games  in  the  circus,  were  suddenly  carried  off  at  the  feast 
of  Consus^  by  his  orders,  and  were  given  in  marriage  to 
the  men  of  the  noblest  families  in  Rome.  And  when,  on 
this  account,  the  Sabines  had  declared  war  against  Rome, 
the  issue  of  the  battle  being  doubtful  and  undecided, 
Romulus  made  an  alliance  with  T.;tius,  King  of  the  Sa- 
bines, at  the  intercession  of  the  matrons  themselves  who 
had  been  carried  off.  By  this  compact  he  admitted  the 
Sabines  into  the  city,  gave  them  a  participation  in  the  re- 
ligious ceremonies,  and  divided  his  power  with  their  king. 

VIIL  But  after  the  death  of  Tatius,  the  entire  govern- 
ment was  again  vested  in  the  hands  of  Romulus,  although, 
besides  making  Tatius  his  own  partner,  he  had  also  elected 
some  of  tlie  chiefs  of  the  Sabines  into  the  royal  council, 
who  on  account  of  their  affectionate  regard  for  the  people 
w^ere  called /)<:/^r<35,  or  fathers.  He  also  divided  the  people 
into  three  tribes,  called  after  the  name  of  Tatius,  and  his 
own  name,  and  that  of  Locumo,  who  had  fallen  as  his  ally 
in  the  Sabine  war;  and  also  into  thirty  curiae,  designated 
by  the  names  of  those  Sabine  virgins,  who,  after  being 
carried  off  at  the  festivals,  generously  offered  themselves 
as  the  mediators  of  i)eace  and  coahtion. 

But  though  these  orders  were  established  in  the  life  of 
Tatius,  yet,  after  his  death,  Romulus  reigned  with  still 
greater  power  by  the  counsel  and  authority  of  the  senate. 

IX.  In  this  respect  he  approved  and  adopted  the  prin- 
ciple which  Lycurgus  but  little  before  had  applied  to  the 
government  of  Lacedfemon  ;  namely,  that  the  monarchical 
*  A  name  of  Neptune. 


402  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

authority  and  the  royal  power  operate  best  in  the  govern* 
ment  of  states  when  to  this  supreme  authority  is  joined 
the  influence  of  tlie  noblest  of  the  citizens. 

Therefore,  thus  supported,  and,  as  it  were,  propped  up 
by  this  council  or  senate,  Romulus  conducted  many  wars 
with  the  neighboring  nations  in  a  most  successful  manner; 
and  while  he  refused  to  take  any  portion  of  the  booty  to 
liis  own  palace,  he  did  not  cease  to  enrich  the  citizens. 
He  also  cherished  the  greatest  respect  for  that  institution 
of  hierarchical  and  ecclesiastical  ordinances  which  we  still 
retain  to  the  great  benefit  of  the  Commonwealth  ;  for  in 
the  very  commencement  of  his  government  he  founded 
the  city  with  religious  rites,  and  in  the  institution  of  all 
public  establishments  he  was  equally  careful  in  attending 
to  these  sacred  ceremonials,  and  associated  with  himself 
on  these  occasions  piiests  that  were  selected  from  each  of 
the  tribes.  He  also  enacted  that  the  nobles  should  act  as 
patrons  and  protectors  to  the  inferior  citizens,  their  natu- 
ral clients  and  dependants,  in  their  respective  districts,  a 
measure  the  utility  of  which  I  shall  afterward  notice. — 
The  judicial  punishments  were  mostly  fines  of  sheep  and 
oxen ;  for  the  property  of  the  people  at  that  time  consist- 
ed in  their  fields  and  cattle,  and  this  circumstance  has 
given  rise  to  the  expressions  which  still  designate  real 
and  personal  wealth.  Thus  the  people  were  kept  in  order 
rather  by  mulctations  than  by  bodily  inflictions. 

X.  After  Romulus  had  thus  reigned  thirty-seven  years, 
and  established  these  two  great  supports  of  government, 
the  hierarchy  and  the  senate,  having  disappeared  in  a  sud- 
den eclipse  of  the  sun,  he  was  thought  worthy  of  being 
added  to  the  number  of  the  Gods  —  an  honor  which  no 
mortal  man  ever  was  able  to  attain  to  but  by  a  glorious 
pre-eminence  of  virtue.  And  this  circumstance  was  the 
more  to  be  admired  in  the  case  of  Romulus  because  most 
of  the  great  men  that  have  been  deified  Avere  so  exalted 
to  celestial  dignities  by  the  people,  in  periods  very  little 
enlightened,  when  fiction  was  easy  and  ignorance  went 
hand-in-hand  with  credulity.  But  w^ith  respect  to  Romu- 
lus, we  know  that  he  lived  less  than  six  centuries  ago,  at 
a  time  when  science  and  literature  were  already  advanced, 
and  had  got  rid  of  many  of  the  ancient  errors  that  had 


ON  THE  COxMMONWEALTH.  403 

prevailed  among  less  civilized  peoples.  For  if,  as  we  con< 
sider  proved  by  the  Grecian  annals,  Rome  was  founded  in 
the  seventh  Olympiad,  the  life  of  Komulus  was  contem- 
porary with  that  period  in  which  Greece  already  abound- 
ed in  poets  and  musicians — an  age  when  fables,  except 
those  concerning  ancient  matters,  received  little  credit. 

For,  one  hundred  and  eight  years  after  the  promulga- 
tion of  the  laws  of  Lycurgus,  the  first  Olympiad  Avas  es- 
tablished, which  indeed,  through  a  mistake  of  names,  some 
authors  have  supposed  constituted  by  Lycurgus  likewise. 
And  Homer  himself,  according  to  the  best  computation, 
lived  about  thirty  years  before  the  time  of  Lycurgus.  We 
must  conclude,  therefore,  that  Homer  flourished  very  many 
years  before  the  date  of  Romulus.  So  that,  as  men  had 
now  become  learned,  and  as  the  times  themselves  were  not 
destitute  of  knowledge,  there  was  not  much  room  left  for 
the  success  of  mere  fictions.  Antiquity  indeed  has  received 
fables  that  have  at  times  been  sufficiently  improbable :  but 
this  epoch,  which  was  already  so  cultivated,  disdaining 
every  fiction  that  was  impossible,  rejected'  *  *  *  We  may 
therefore,  perhaps,  attach  some  credit  to  this  story  of  Rom- 
ulus's  immortality,  since  human  life  was  at  that  time  ex- 
perienced, cultivated,  and  instructed.  And  doubtless  there 
was  in  him  such  energy  of  genius  and  virtue  that  it  is  not 
altogether  impossible  to  believe  the  report  of  Proculus  Ju- 
lius, the  husbandman,  of  that  glorification  having  befallen 
Romulus  which  for  many  ages  we  have  denied  to  less  il- 
lustrious men.  At  all  events,  Proculus  is  reported  to  have 
stated  in  the  council,  at  the  instigation  of  the  senators,  who 
wished  to  free  themselves  from  all  suspicion  of  having 
been  accessaries  to  the  death  of  Romulus,  that  he  had 
seen  him  on  that  hill  which  is  now  called  the  Quirinal, 
and  that  he  had  commanded  him  to  inform  the  people 
that  they  should  build  him  a  temple  on  that  same  hill,  and 
offer  him  sacrifices  under  the  name  of  Quirinus. 

XI.  You  see,  therefore,  that  the  genius  of  this  great 
man  did  not  merely  establish  the  constitution  of  a  new 
people,  and  then  leave  them,  as  it  were,  crying  in  their 
cradle;  but  he  still  continued  to  superintend  their  educa- 

^  About  seven  lines  are  lost  here,  and  there  is  a  great  deal  of  corrup- 
tion and  imperfection  in  the  next  few  sentences. 


404  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

lion  till  they  had  arrived  at  an  adult  and  wellnigh  a  ma* 
ture  age. 

Then  Laelius  said :  We  now  see,  my  Scipio,  what  you 
meant  when  you  said  that  you  would  adopt  a  new  method 
of  discussing  the  science  of  government,  different  from 
any  found  in  the  writings  of  the  Greeks.  For  that  prime 
master  of  philosophy,  whom  none  ever  surpassed  in  elo- 
quence, I  mean  Plato,  chose  an  open  plain  on  which  to 
build  an  imaginary  city  after  his  .own  taste — a  city  ad- 
mirably conceived,  as  none  can  deny,  but  remote  enough 
from  the  real  life  and  manners  of  men.  Others,  witliout 
proposing  to  themselves  any  model  or  type  of  government 
whatever,  have  argued  on  the  constitutions  and  forms  of 
states.  You,  on  the  contrary,  appear  to  be  about  to  unite 
these  two  methods ;  foi",  as  far  as  you  have  gone,  you  seem 
to  prefer  attributing  to  others  your  discovei'ies,  rather  than 
start  new  theories  under  your  own  name  and  authority, 
as  Socrates  has  done  in  the  writings  of  Plato.  Thus,  in 
speaking  of  the  site  of  Rome,  you  refer  to  a  systematic 
policy,  to  the  acts  of  Romulus,  which  were  many  of  them 
the  result  of  necessity  or  chance;  and  you  do  not  allow 
your  discourse  to  run  riot  over  many  states,  but  you  fix 
and  concentrate  it  on  our  own  Commonwealth.  Proceed, 
then,  in  the  course  you  have  adopted ;  for  I  see  that  you 
intend  to  examine  our  other  kings,  in  your  pursuit  of  a 
perfect  republic,  as  it  w^ere. 

XIL  Therefore,  said  Scipio,  when  that  senate  of  Romu- 
lus which  was  composed  of  the  nobles,  whom  the  king  him- 
self respected  so  highly  that  he  designated  ihe m  patres,  or 
fathers,  and  their  children  patricians,  attempted  after  the 
death  of  Romulus  to  conduct  the  government  without  a 
king,  the  people  would  not  suffer  it,  but,  amidst  their  re- 
gret for  Romulus,  desisted  not  from  demanding  a  fresh 
monarch.  The  nobles  then  prudently  resolved  to  estab- 
lish an  interregnum — a  new  political  form,  unknown  to  oth- 
er nations.  It  was  not  without  its  use,  however,  since,  dur- 
ing the  interval  which  elapsed  before  the  definitive  nom- 
ination of  the  new  king,  the  State  was  not  left  without  a 
ruler,  nor  subjected  too  long  to  the  same  governor,  nor 
exposed  to  the  fear  lest  some  one,  in  consequence  of  the 
prolonged  enjoyment  of  power,  should  become  more  un- 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  405 

willing  to  lay  it  aside,  or  more  powerful  if  he  wished  to 
secure  it  permanently  for  himself.  At  which  time  this 
new  nation  discovered  a  political  provision  which  had  es- 
caped the  Spartan  Lycurgus,  who  conceived  that  the  mon- 
arch ought  not  to  be  elective — if  indeed  it  is  true  that  this 
depended  on  Lycurgus — but  that  it  was  better  for  the 
Lacedaemonians  to  acknowledge  as  their  sovereign  the  next 
heir  of  the  race  of  Hercules,  whoever  he  might  be :  but  our 
Romans,  rude  as  they  were,  saw  the  importance  of  appoint- 
ing a  king,  not  for  his  family,  but  for  his  virtue  and  ex- 
perience. 

XIII.  And  fame  having  recognized  these  eminent  qual- 
ities in  Numa  Pompilius,  the  Roman  people,  without  par- 
tiality for  their  own  citizens,  committed  itself,  by  the  coun- 
sel of  the  senators,  to  a  king  of  foreign  origin,  and  sum- 
moned this  Sabine  from  the  city  of  Cures  to  Rome,  that 
he  might  reign  over  them.  Numa,  although  the  people 
had  proclaimed  him  king  in  their  Comitia  Curiata,  did 
nevertheless  himself  pass  a  Lex  Curiata  respecting  his 
own  authority;  and  observing  that  the  institutions  of 
Romulus  had  too  much  excited  the  military  propensities 
of  the  people,  he  judged  it  expedient  to  recall  them  from 
this  habit  of  warfare  by  other  employments. 

XIV.  And,  in  the  first  place,  he  divided  severally  among 
the  citizens  the  lands  which  Romulus  had  conquered,  and 
taught  them  that  even  without  the  aid  of  pillage  and  dev- 
astation they  could,  by  the  cultivation  of  their  own  terri- 
tories, procure  themselves  all  kinds  of  commodities.  And 
he  inspired  them  with  the  love  of  peace  and  tranquillity, 
in  which  faith  and  justice  are  likeliest  to  flourish,  and  ex- 
tended the  most  powerful  protection  to  the  people  in  the 
cultivation  of  their  fields  and  the  enjoyment  of  their  prod- 
uce. Pompilius  likewise  having  created  hierarchical  insti- 
tutions of  the  highest  class,  added  two  augurs  to  the  old 
number.  He  intrusted  the  superintendence  of  the  sacred 
rites  to  five  pontiffs, selected  fronr  the  body  of  the  nobles; 
and  by  those  laws  which  we  still  preserve  on  our  monu- 
ments he  mitigated,  by  religious  ceremonials,  the  minds 
that  had  been  too  long  inflamed  by  military  enthusiasm 
and  enterprise. 

He  also  established  the  Flamines  and  the  Saliau  priests 


406  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

and  the  Vestal  Virgins,  and  regulated  all  departments  of 
our  ecclesiastical  policy  with  the  most  pious  care.  In  the 
ordinance  of  sacrifices,  he  wished  that  the  ceremonial  should 
be  very  arduous  and  the  expenditure  very  light.  He  thus 
appointed  many  observances,  whose  knowledge  is  extreme- 
ly important,  and  v/hose  expense  far  from  burdensome. 
Thus  in  religious  worship  he  added  devotion  and  removed 
costliness.  He  was  also  the  first  to  introduce  markets, 
games,  and  the  other  usual  methods  of  assembling  and 
uniting  men.  By  these  establishments,  he  inclined  to  be- 
nevolence and  amiability  spirits  whom  the  passion  for  war 
had  rendered  savage  and  ferocious.  Having  thus  reigned 
in  the  greatest  peace  and  concord  thirty-nine  years — for  in 
dates  we  mainly  follow  our  Polybius,  than  whom  no  one 
ever  gave  more  attention  to  the  investigation  of  the  his- 
tory of  the  times — he  departed  this  life,  having  corrobo- 
rated the  two  grand  principles  of  political  stability,  relig- 
ion and  clemency. 

XV.  When  Scipio  had  concluded  these  remarks.  Is  it 
not,  said  Manilius,  a  true  tradition  which  is  current,  that 
our  king  Numa  was  a  disciple  of  Pythagoras  himself,  or 
that  at  least  he  was  a  Pythagorean  in  his  doctrines  ?  For 
I  have  often  heard  this  from  my  elders,  and  we  know  that 
it  is  the  popular  opinion  ;  but  it  does  not  seeni  to  be  clear- 
ly proved  by  the  testimony  of  our  public  annals. 
'  Then  Scipio  replied :  The  supposition  is  false,  my  Ma- 
nilius ;  it  is  not  merely  a  fiction,  but  a  ridiculous  and  bun- 
gling one  too  ;  and  we  should  not  tolerate  those  statements, 
even  in  fiction,  relating  to  facts  which  not  only  did  not  hap- 
pen, but  which  never  could  have  happened.  For  it  was 
not  till  the  fourth  year  of  the  reign  of  Tarquinius  Super- 
bus  that  Pythagoras  is  ascertained  to  have  come  to  Syba- 
ris,  Crotona,  and  this  part  of  Italy.  And  the  sixty-second 
Olympiad  is  the  common  date  of  the  elevation  of  Tarquin 
to  the  throne,  and  of  the  arrival  of  Pythagoras.  From 
which  it  appears,  when  we  calculate  the  duration  of  the 
reigns  of  the  kings,  that  about  one  hundred  and  forty 
years  must  liave  elapsed  after  the  death  of  Numa  before 
Pythagoras  first  arrived  in  Italy.  And  this  fact,  in  the 
minds  of  men  who  have  carefully  studied  the  annals  of 
time,  has  never  been  at  all  doubted. 


ON  THE  COMxMONWEALTH.  407 

O  yo  inunortnl  Gods  !  said  Manilius,  how  deep  and  how 
inveterate  is  this  error  in  the  minds  of  men  !  However, 
it  costs  me  no  effort  to  concede  that  our  Roman  sciences 
were  not  imported  from  beyond  the  seas,  but  that  they 
spruns:  from  our  own  indigenous  and  domestic  virtues. 

XVI.  You  will  become  still  more  convinced  of  this  fact, 
said  Africanus,  when  tracing  the  progress  of  our  Common- 
wealth as  it  became  gradually  developed  to  its  best  and 
maturest  condition.  And  you  will  find  yet  further  occa- 
sion to  admire  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  on  this  very 
account,  since  you  will  perceive  that  even  those  things 
which  they  borrowed  from  foreigners  received  a  much 
higher  improvement  among  us  than  they  possessed  in  the 
countries  from  whence  they  were  imported  among  us ;  and 
you  will  learn  that  the  Roman  people  was  aggrandized,  not 
by  chance  or  hazard,  but  rather  by  counsel  and  discipline, 
to  which  fortune  indeed  was  by  no  means  unfavorable. 

XVII.  After  the  death  of  King  Pompilius,  the  people, 
after  a  short  period  of  interregnum,  chose  TuUus  Hostilius 
for  their  king,  in  the  Comitia  Curiata;  and  TuUus,  after 
Numa's  example,  consulted  the  people  in  their  curias  to 
procure  a  sanction  for  his  government.  His  excellence 
chiefly  appeared  in  his  military  glory  and  great  achieve- 
ments in  war.  He  likewise,  out  of  his  military  spoils,  con- 
structed and  decorated  the  House  of  Comitia  and  the  Sen- 
ate-house. He  also  settled  the  ceremonies  of  the  procla- 
mation of  hostilities,  and  consecrated  their  righteous  insti- 
tution by  the  religious  sanction  of  the  Fetial  priests,  so 
that  every  war  which  was  not  duly  announced  and  de- 
clared might  be  adjudged  illegal,  unjust,  and  impious. 
And  observe  how  wisely  our  kings  at  that  time  perceived 
that  certain  rights  ought  to  be  allowed  to  the  peoi)le,  of 
which  we  shall  have  a  good  deal  to  say  hereafter.  Tullus 
did  not  even  assume  the  ensigns  of  royalty  without  the 
approbation  of  the  people ;  and  when  he  appointed  twelve 
lictors,  with  their  axes  to  go  before  him'  *  *  * 

XVIII.  *  *  *  [llaiiilins^.]  This  Commonwealth  of  Rome, 
which  you  are  so  eloquently  describing,  did  not  creep  tow- 
ards perfection ;  it  rather  flew  at  once  to  the  maturity  of 
its  grandeur. 

^  Two  pages  are  lost  here. 


408  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

[Sclpio.]  After  Tulliis,  Ancns  Martins,  a  descendant  of 
Nnma  by  his  danghter,  was  appointed  king  by  the  people. 
He  also  procured  the  passing  of  a  law^  through  the  Comi- 
tia  Curiata  respecting  his  government.  This  king  having 
conquered  the  Latins,  admitted  them  to  the  rights  of  citi- 
zens of  Rome.  He  added  to  the  city  the  Aventine  and 
Caelian  hills;  he  distributed  the  lands  he  had  taken  in 
war ;  he  bestowed  on  the  public  all  the  maritime  forests 
he  had  acquired  ;  and  he  built  the  city  Ostia,  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Tiber,  and  coloiiized  it.  When  he  had  thus  reigned 
twenty-three  years,  he  died. 

Then  said  La3lius :  Doubtless  this  king  deserves  our 
praises,  but  the  Roman  history  is  obscure.  We  possess, 
indeed,  the  name  of  this  monarch's  mother,  but  we  know 
nothing  of  his  father. 

It  is  so,  said  Scipio  ;  but  in  those  ages  little  more  than 
the  names  of  the  kings  were  recorded. 

XIX.  For  the  first  time  at  this  period,  Rome  appears 
to  have  become  more  learned  by  the  study  of  foreign  lit- 
erature; for  it  was  no  longer  a  little  rivulet,  flowing  from 
Greece  towards  the  walls  of  our  city,  but  an  overflowing 
river  of  Grecian  sciences  and  arts.  This  is  generally  at- 
tributed to  Demaratus,  a  Corinthian,  the  first  man  of  his 
country  in  reputation,  honor,  and  wealth ;  who,  not  being 
able  to  bear  the  despotism  of  Cypselus,  tyrant  of  Corinth, 
fled  with  large  treasures,  and  arrived  at  Tarquinii,  the  most 
flourishing  city  in  Etruria.  There,  understanding  that  the 
domination  of  Cypselus  was  thoroughly  established,  he, 
like  a  free  and  bold-hearted  man,  renounced  his  country, 
and  was  admitted  into  the  number  of  the  citizens  of  Tar- 
quinii, and  fixed  his  residence  in  that  city.  And  having 
married  a  woman  of  the  city,  he  instructed  his  two  sons, 
according  to  the  method  of  Greek  education,  in  all  kinds 
of  sciences  and  arts.'^  *  *  * 

XX.  *  *  *  [One  of  these  sons]  was  easily  admitted  to 

1  The  Lex  Curiata  de  Lnperio,  so  often  mentioned  here,  was  the  same 
as  the  Auctoritas  Patrurn,  and  was  necessary  in  order  to  confer  npon  the 
dictator,  consuls,  and  other  magistrates  the  i7nperium,  or  military  com- 
mand:  without  this  they  had  only  a  potestas,  or  civil  authority,  and 
conid  not  meddle  with  military  afliiirs. 

'^  Two  pages  arc  missing  here.  . 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  409 

the  rights  of  citizenship  at  Rome ;  and  on  account  of  his 
accomplished  manners  and  learning,  he  became  a  favorite 
of  our  king  Ancus  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was  a  partner 
in  all  his  counsels,  and  was  looked  upon  almost  as  his  as- 
sociate in  the  government.  He,  besides,  possessed  won- 
derful affability,  and  was  very  kind  in  assistance,  support, 
protection,  and  even  gifts  of  money,  to  the  citizens. 

When,  therefore,  Ancus  died,  the  people  by  their  unani- 
mous suffrages  chose  for  their  king  this  Lucius  Tarquinius 
(for  he  had  thus  transformed  the  Greek  name  of  his  fam- 
ily, that  he  might  seem  in  all  respects  to  imitate  the  cus- 
toms of  his  adopted  countrymen).  And  when  he,  too,  had 
procured  the  passing  of  a  law  respecting  his  authority,  he 
commenced  his  reign  by  doubling  the  original  number  of 
the  senators.  The  ancient  senators  he  called  patricians  of 
the  major  families  {pati'es  majorum  gentium)^  and  he  ask- 
ed their  votes  first ;  and  those  new  senators  whom  he  him- 
self had  added,  he  entitled  patricians  of  minor  families. 
After  this,  he  established  the  order  of  knights,  on  the  plan 
which  we  maintain  to  this  day.  He  would  not,  however, 
change  the  denomination  of  the  Tatian,  Rhamnensian,  and 
Lucerian  orders,  though  he  wished  to  do  so,  because  Attus 
Nasvius,  an  augur  of  the  highest  reputation,  would  not 
sanction  it.  And,  indeed,  I  am  aware  that  the  Corinthi- 
ans were  remarkably  attentive  to  provide  for  the  mainte- 
nance and  good  condition  of  their  cavalry  by  taxes  levied 
on  the  inheritance  of  widows  and  orphans.  To  the  first 
equestrian  orders  Lucius  also  added  new  ones,  composing 
a  body  of  three  hundred  knights.  And  this  number  lie 
doubled,  after  having  conquered  the  ^quicoH,  a  large  and 
ferocious  people,  and  dangerous  enemies  of  the  Roman 
State.  Having  likewise  repulsed  from  our  walls  an  inva- 
sion of  the  Sabines,  he  routed  them  by  the  aid  of  his  cav- 
alry, and  subdued  them.  He  also  was  the  first  person 
who  instituted  the  grand  games  which  are  now  called  the 
Roman  Games.  He  fulfilled  his  vow  to  build  a  temple  to 
tlie  all-good  and  all-powerful  Jupiter  in  the  Capitol — a  vow 
which  he  made  durinir  a  battle  in  the  Sabine  war — and 
died  after  a  reign  of  tliirty -eight  years. 

XXL  Then  Laelius  said  :  All  that  you  have  been  relat- 
ing corroborates  the  saying  of  Cato,  that  the  constitution 

18 


410  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

of  the  Roman  Commonwealth  is  not  the  work  of  one  man, 
or  one  age ;  for  we  can  clearly  see  what  a  great  progress 
in  excellent  and  useful  institutions  was  continued  nnder 
each  successive  king.  But  we  are  now  arrived  at  the 
reign  of  a  monarch  who  appears  to  me  to  have  been  of  all 
our  kings  he  who  had  the  greatest  foresight  in  matters  of 
political  government. 

So  it  appears  to  me,  said  Scipio;  for  after  Tavquinius 
Prisons  comes  Servius  Sulpicius,  who  was  the  first  who  is 
reported  to  have  reigned  without  an  order  from  the  peo- 
ple. He  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  son  of  a  female 
slave  at  Tarquinii,  by  one  of  the  soldiers  or  clients  of 
King  Prisons ;  and  as  he  was  educated  among  the  servants 
of  this  prince,  and  waiting  on  him  at  table,  the  king  soon 
observed  the  fire  of  his  genius,  which  shone  forth  even 
from  his  childhood,  so  skilful  was  he  in  all  his  words  and 
actions.  Therefore, Tarquin,  whose  own  children  were  then 
very  young,  so  loved  Servius  that  he  was  very  commonly 
believed  to  be  his  own  son,  and  he  instructed  him  with 
the  greatest  care  in  all  the  sciences  with  which  he  was 
acquainted,  according  to  the  most  exact  discipline  of  the 
Greeks. 

But  when  Tarquin  had  perished  by  the  plots  of  the  sons 
of  Ancus,  and  Servius  (as  I  have  said)  had  begun  to  reign, 
not  by  the  order,  but  yet  with  the  good-will  and  consent, 
of  the  citizens  —  because,  as  it  was  falsely  reported  that 
Prisons  was  recovering  from  his  wounds,  Servius,  arrayed 
in  the  royal  robes,  delivered  judgment,  freed  the  debtors 
at  his  own  expense,  and,  exhibiting  the  greatest  affability, 
announced  that  he  delivered  judgment  at  the  command  of 
Prisons — he  did  not  commit  himself  to  the  senate;  but, 
after  Prisons  was  buried,  he  consulted  the  people  respect- 
ing his  authority,  and,  being  authorized  by  them  to  as- 
sume the  dominion,  he  procured  a  law  to  be  passed  through 
the  Comitia  Curiata,  confirming  his  government. 

He  then,  in  the  first  place,  avenged  the  injuries  of  the 
Etruscans  by  arms.     After  which'  *  *  * 

XXH.  *  *  *  he  enrolled  eighteen  centuries  of  knights 
of  the  first  order.  Afterward,  having  created  a  great 
number  of  knights  from  tlie  common  mass  of  tlie  j)eople, 
'  Here  two  pages  are  missing. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  411 

he  divided  the  rest  of  the  people  into  five  classes,  distin- 
guishing between  the  seniors  and  the  juniors.  These  he 
so  constituted  as  to  place  the  suffrages,  not  in  the  hands 
of  the  multitude,  but  in  the  power  of  the  men  of  property. 
And  he  took  care  to  make  it  a  rule  of  ours,  as  it  ought  to 
be  in  every  government,  that  the  greatest  number  should 
not  have  the  greatest  weight.  You  are  well  acquainted 
with  this  institution,  otlierwise  I  would  explain  it  to  you; 
but  you  are  familiar  with  the  whole  system,  and  know 
how  the  centuries  of  knights,  with  six  suffrages,  and  the 
first  class,  comprising  eighty  centuries,  besides  one  other 
century  which  was  allotted  to  the  artificers,  on  account  of 
their  utility  to  the  State,  produce  eighty-nine  centuries. 
If  to  these  there  are  added  twelve  centuries — for  that  is 
the  number  of  the  centuries  of  the  knights  which  remain' 
— the  entire  force  of  the  State  is  summed  up;  and  the 
arrangement  is  such  that  the  remaining  and  far  more  nu- 
merous multitude,  which  is  distributed  through  the  nine- 
ty-six last  centuries,  is  not  deprived  of  a  right  of  suffrage, 
which  would  be  an  arrogant  measui-e ;  nor,  on  the  other 
hand,  permitted  to  exert  too  great  a  preponderance  in  the 
government,  which  would  be  dangerous. 

In  this  arrangement,  Servius  was  very  cautious  in  his 
choice  of  terms  and  denominations.  He  called  the  rich 
assidui,  because  they  afforded  pecuniary  succor'*  to  the 
State.  As  to  those  whose  fortune  did  not  exceed  1500 
pence,  or  those  who  had  nothing  but  their  labor,  he  called 
them  2^^'oletarii  classes,  as  if  the  State  should  expect  from 
them  a  hardy  progeny^  and  population. 

Even  a  single  one  of  the  ninety-six  last  centuries  con- 
tained numerically  more  citizens  than  the  entire  first  class. 
Thus,  no  one  was  excluded  from  his  right  of  voting,  yet 
the  preponderance  of  votes  was  secured  to  those  who  had 
the  deepest  stake  in  the  welfare  of  the  State.  Moreover, 
with  reference  to  the  accensi,  velati,  trumpeters,  horn- 
blowers,  proletarii*  *  *  * 

XXIII.  *  *  *  That  that  republic  is  arranged  in  the  best 
manner  which,  being  composed  in  due  proportions  of  those 

'  I  have  translated  this  very  corrupt  passage  according  to  Niebuhr's 
emendation.  ^  Assiduns,  ab  aire  dando. 

"  Tioletarii,  a  prole.  ■•  Here  four  pages  are  missing. 


412  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

three  elements,  the  monarchical,  the  aristocratical,  and  the 
democratic,  does  not  by  punishment  irritate  a  fierce  and 
savage  mind.  *  *  *  [A  similar  institution  prevailed  at 
Carthage],  which  was  sixty-five  years  more  ancient  than 
Rome,  since  it  was  founded  thirty-nine  years  before  the 
first  Olympiad  ;  and  that  most  ancient  law-giver  Lycurgus 
made  nearly  the  same  arrangements.  Thus  the  system  of 
regular  subordination,  and  this  mixture  of  the  three  prin- 
cipal forms  of  government,  appear  to  me  common  alike  to 
us  and  them.  But  there  is  a  peculiar  advantage  in  our 
Commonwealth,  than  which  nothing  can  be  more  excellent, 
which  I  shall  endeavor  to  describe  as  accurately  as  possi- 
ble, because  it  is  of  such  a  character  that  nothing  analo- 
gous can  be  discovered  in  ancient  states;  for  these  politi- 
cal elements  which  I  have  noticed  were  so  united  in  the 
constitutions  of  Rome,  of  Sparta,  and  of  Carthage,  that 
they  were  not  counterbalanced  by  any  modifying  power. 
For  in  a  state  in  which  one  man  is  invested  with  a  per- 
petual domination,  especially  of  the  monarchical  character, 
although  there  be  a  senate  in  it,  as  there  was  in  Rome  un- 
der the  kings,  and  in  Sparta,  by  the  laws  of  Lycurgus,  or 
even  where  the  people  exercise  a  sort  of  jurisdiction,  as 
they  used  in  the  days  of  our  monarchy,  the  title  of  king 
must  still  be  pre-eminent;  nor  can  such  a  state  avoid  be- 
ing, and  being  called,  a  kingdom.  And  this  kind  of  gov- 
ernment is  especially  subject  to  frequent  revolutions,  be- 
cause the  fault  of  a  single  individual  is  sufiicient  to  pre- 
cipitate it  into  the  most  pernicious  disasters. 

In  itself,  however,  royalty  is  not  only  not  a  reprehensi- 
ble form  of  government,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  it 
is  not  far  preferable  to  all  other  simple  constitutions,  if  I 
approved  of  any  simple  constitution  whatever.  But  this 
preference  applies  to  royalty  so  long  only  as  it  maintains 
its  appropriate  character;  and  this  character  provides  that 
one  individual's  perpetual  power,  and  justice,  and  univer- 
sal wisdom  should  regulate  the  safety,  equality,  and  tran- 
quillity of  the  whole  people.  But  many  privileges  must 
be  wanting  to  communities  that  live  under  a  king;  and, 
in  the  first  place,  liberty,  which  does  not  consist  in  slavery 
to  a  just  master,  but  in  slavery  to  no  master  at  alP  *  *  * 
'  Two  pages  jue  missing  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  413 

XXIV.  *  *  *  [Let  us  now  pass  on  to  the  reign  of  the 
seventh  and  last  king  of  Rome,  Tarqninius  Superbus.] 
And  even  this  unjust  and  cruel  master  had  good  fortune 
for  liis  companion  for  some  time  in  all  his  enterprises. 
For  he  subdued  all  Latium  ;  he  captured  Suessa  Pometia, 
a  i)0\verful  and  wealthy  city,  and,  becoming  possessed  of 
an  immense  spoil  of  gold  and  silver,  he  accomplished  his 
father's  vow  by  the  building  of  the  Capitol.  He  estab- 
lished colonies,  and,  faithful  to  the  institutions  of  those 
from  whom  he  sprung,  he  sent  magnificent  presents,  as 
tokens  of  gratitude  for  his  victories,  to  Apollo  at  Delphi. 

XXV.  Here  begins  the  revolution  of  our  political  sys- 
tem of  government,  and  I  must  beg  your  attention  to  its 
natural  course  and  progression.  For  the  grand  point  of 
political  science,  the  object  of  our  discourses,  is  to  know 
the  march  and  the  deviations  of  governments,  that  when 
we  are  acquainted  with  the  particular  courses  and  inclina- 
tions of  constitutions,  we  may  be  able  to  restrain  them 
from  their  fatal  tendencies,  or  to  oppose  adequate  obstacles 
to  their  decline  and  fall. 

For  this  Tarqninius  Superbus,  of  whom  I  am  speaking, 
being  first  of  all  stained  with  the  blood  of  his  admirable 
predecessor  on  the  throne,  could  not  be  a  man  of  sound 
conscience  and  mind ;  and  as  he  feared  himself  the  se- 
verest punishment  for  his  enormous  crime,  he  sought  his 
protection  in  making  himself  feared.  Then,  in  the  glory 
of  his  victories  and  his  treasures,  he  exulted  in  insolent 
pride,  and  could  neither  regulate  his  own  manners  nor  the 
passions  of  the  members  of  his  family. 

When,  therefore,  his  eldest  son  had  offered  violence  to 
Lucretia,  daughter  of  Tricipitinus  and  wife  of  CoUatinus, 
and  this  chaste  and  noble  lady  had  stabbed  herself  to  death 
on  account  of  the  injury  she  could  not  survive  —  then  a 
man  eminent  for  his  genius  and  virtue,  Lucius  Brutus, 
dashed  from  his  fellow-citizens  this  unjust  yoke  of  odious 
servitude ;  and  though  he  was  but  a  private  man,  he  sus- 
tained the  government  of  the  entire  Commonwealth,  and 
was  the  first  that  taught  the  people  in  this  State  that  no 
one  was  a  private  man  when  the  preservation  of  our  liber- 
ties was  concerned.  Beneath  his  authority  and  command 
our  city  rose  against  tyranny,  and,  stirred  by  the  recent 


414  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

grief  of  the  father  and  relatives  of  Lucretia,  and  with  the 
recollections  of  Tarquin's  haughtiness,  and  the  numberless 
crimes  of  himself  and  his  sons,  they  pronounced  sentence 
of  banishment  against  him  and  his  children,  and  the  whole 
race  of  the  Tarquins. 

XXVI.  Do  you  not  observe,  then,  how  the  king  some- 
times degenerates  into  the  despot,  and  how,  by  the  fault 
of  one  individual,  a  form  of  government  originally  good  is 
abused  to  the  worst  of  purposes  ?  Here  is  a  specimen  of 
that  despot  over  the  people  whom  the  Greeks  denominate 
a  tyrant.  For,  according  to  them,  a  king  is  he  who,  like  a 
father,  consults  the  interests  of  his  people,  and  who  pre- 
serves those  whom  he  is  set  over  in  the  very  best  condi- 
tion of  life.  This  indeed  is,  as  I  have  said,  an  excellent 
form  of  government,  yet  still  liable,  and,  as  it  were,  inclined, 
to  a  pernicious  abuse.  For  as  soon  as  a  king  assumes  an 
unjust  and  despotic  power,  he  instantly  becomes  a  tyrant, 
than  which  nothing  baser  or  fouler,  than  which  no  imag- 
inable animal  can  be  more  detestable  to  gods  or  men ;  for 
though  in  form  a  man,  he  surpasses  the  most  savage  mon- 
sters in  ferocious  cruelty.  For  who  can  justly  call  him  a 
human  being,  who  admits  not  between  himself  and  his  fel- 
low-countrymen, between  himself  and  the  whole  human 
race,  any  communication  of  justice,  any  association  of 
kindness?  But  we  shall  find  some  fitter  occasion  of 
speaking  of  the  evils  of  tyranny  when  the  subject  itself 
prompts  us  to  declare  against  them  who,  even  in  a  state 
already  liberated,  have  affected  these  despotic  insolencies. 

XXVII.  Such  is  the  first  origin  and  rise  of  a  tyrant. 
For  this  was  the  name  by  which  the  Greeks  choose  to  des- 
ignate an  unjust  king;  and  by  the  title  king  our  Romans 
universally  understand  every  man  who  exercises  over  the 
people  a  perpetual  and  undivided  domination.  Thus  Spu- 
rius  Cassius,  and  Marcus  Manlius,  and  Spurius  Ma^lius, 
are  said  to  have  wished  to  seize  upon  the  kingly  power, 
and  lately  [Tiberius  Gracchus  incurred  the  same  accusa- 
tion].^ *  *  * 

XXVIII.  *  *  *  [Lycurgus,  in  Sparta,  formed,  under  the 
name  of  Elders,]  a  small  council  consisting  of  twenty-eight 
members  only ;  to  these  he  allotted  the  supreme  legislative 

'■  Two  pages  are  missing  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  415 

authority,  while  the  king  held  the  supreme  executive  au- 
thority. Our  Romans,  emulating  his  example,  and  trans- 
lating his  terms,  entitled  those  whom  he  had  called  Elders, 
Senators,  which,  as  we  have  said,  was  done  by  Romulus  in 
reference  to  the  elect  patricians.  In  this  constitution, 
however,  the  power,  the  influence,  and  name  of  the  king  is 
still  pre-eminent.  You  may  distribute,  indeed,  some  show 
of  power  to  the  people,  as  Lycurgus  and  Romulus  did, 
but  you  inflame  them  with  the  thirst  of  liberty  by  allow- 
ing them  even  the  slightest  taste  of  its  sweetness ;  and  still 
their  hearts  will  be  overcast  with  alarm  lest  their  king,  as 
often  happens,  should  become  unjust.  The  prosperity  of 
the  people,  therefore,  can  be  little  better  than  fragile,  when 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  any  one  individual,  and  subjected 
to  his  will  and  caprices. 

XXIX.  Thus  the  first  example,  prototype,  and  original 
of  tyranny  has  b^en  discovered  by  us  in  the  history  of  our 
own  Roman  State,  religiously  founded  by  Romulus,  with- 
out applying  to  the  theoretical  Commonwealth  which,  ac- 
cording to  Plato*s  recital,  Socrates  was  accustomed  to  de- 
scribe in  his  peripatetic  dialogues.  We  have  observed 
Tarquin,  not  by  the  usurpation  of  any  new  power,  but  by 
the  unjust  abuse  of  the  power  which  he  already  possessed, 
overturn  the  whole  system  of  our  monarchical  constitution. 

Let  us  oppose  to  this  example  of  the  tyrant  another,  a 
virtuous  king — wise,  experienced,  and  well  informed  re- 
specting the  true  interest  and  dignity  of  the  citizens  —  a 
guardian,  as  it  were,  and  superintendent  of  the  Common- 
wealth ;  for  that  is  a  proper  name  for  every  ruler  and 
governor  of  a  state.  And  take  you  care  to  recognize  such 
a  man  when  you  meet  him,  for  he  is  the  man  who,  by  coun- 
sel and  exertion,  can  best  protect  the  nation.  And  as  the 
name  of  this  man  has  not  yet  been  often  mentioned  in  our 
discourse,  and  as  the  character  of  such  a  man  must  be  of- 
ten alluded  to  in  our  future  conversations,  [I  shall  take  an 
early  opportunity  of  describing  it.]'  *  *  * 

XXX.  *  *  *  [Plato  has  chosen  to  suppose  a  territory 
and  establishments  of  citizens,  whose  fortunes]  were  pre- 
cisely equal.  And  he  has  given  us  a  description  of  a  city, 
rather  to  be  desired  than  expected ;  and  he  has  made  out 

*  Here  twelve  pages  are  missing. 


416  ON   THE  COMMONWEALTir. 

not  sncli  a  one  as  can  really  exist,  but  one  in  which  the 
principles  of  political  affairs  may  be  discerned.  But  for 
me,  if  I  can  in  any  way  accomplish  it,  while  I  ado])t  the 
same  general  principles  as  Plato,  I  am  seeking  to  reduce 
them  to  experience  and  practice,  not  in  the  shadow  and 
picture  of  a  state,  but  in  a  real  and  actual  Commonwealth, 
of  unrivalled  amplitude  and  power;  in  order  to  be  able 
to  point  out,  with  the  most  graphic  precision,  the  causes 
of  every  political  good  and  social  evil. 

For  after  Rome  had  flourished  more  than  two  hundred 
and  forty  years  under  her  kings  and  interreges,  and  after 
Tarquin  was  sent  into  banishment,  the  Roman  people  con- 
ceived as  much  detestation  of  the  name  of  king  as  they 
had  once  experienced  regret  at  the  death,  or  rather  dis- 
appearance, of  Romulus.  Therefore,  as  in  the  first  in- 
stance they  could  hardly  bear  the  idea  of  losing  a  king, 
so  in  the  latter,  after  the  expulsion  of  Tarquin,  they  could 
not  endure  to  hear  the  name  of  a  king.^  *  *  * 

XXXI.  *  *  *  Therefore,  when  that  admirable  constitu- 
tion of  Romulus  had  lasted  steadily  about  tAVO  hundi-ed 
•and  forty  years.  *  *  *  The  whole  of  that  law  was  abol- 
ished. In  this  humor,  our  ancestors  banished  Collatinus, 
in  spite  of  his  innocence,  because  of  the  suspicion  that  at- 
tached to  his  family,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  Tarquins,  on 
account  of  the  un])opularity  of  their  name.  In  the  same 
humor,  Valerius  Publicola  was  the  first  to  lower  the  fasces 
before  the  people,  when  he  spoke  in  the  assembly  of  the 
people.  He  also  had  the  materials  of  his  house  conveyed 
to  the  foot  of  Mount  Velia,  having  observed  that  the  com- 
mencement of  his  edifice  on  the  summit  of  this  hill,  where 
King  Tullius  had  once  dwelt,  excited  the  suspicions  of  the 
people. 

It  was  the  same  man,  who  in  this  respect  pre-eminently 
deserved  the  name  of  Publicola,  who  carried  in  favor  of 
the  people  the  first  law  received  in  the  Comitia  Centuriata, 
that  no  magistrate  should  sentence  to  death  or  scourging 
a  Roman  citizen  Avho  appealed  from  his  authority  to  the 
people.  And  the  pontifical  books  attest  that  the  right  of 
appeal  had  existed, even  against  the  decision  of  the  kings. 
Our  augural  books  affirm  the  same  thing.  And  the  Twelve 
^  Sixteen  pages  are  missing  here. 


ON   THE  COMMONWli:ALTH.  41 : 

Tables  prove,  by  a  multitude  of  laws,  that  there  was  a  right 
of  appeal  from  every  judgment  and  penalty.  Besides,  ihe 
historical  fact  that  the  decemviri  who  compiled  the  laws 
wcM-e  created  with  the  privilege  of  judging  without  appeal, 
sufficiently  proves  that  the  other  magistrates  had  not  the 
same  power.  And  a  consular  law,  passed  by  Lucius  Va- 
lerius Politus  and  Marcus  Horatius  Barbatus,  men  justly 
|)opular  for  promoting  union  and  concord,  enacted  that  no 
magistrate  sliould  thenceforth  be  appointed  with  authority 
to  judge  without  appeal;  and  the  Portian  laws,  the  work 
of  three  citizens  of  the  name  of  Fortius,  as  you  are  aware, 
added  nothing  new  to  this  edict  but  a  penal  sanction. 

Therefore  Publicola,  having  promulgated  this  law  in  fa- 
vor of  appeal  to  the  people,  immediately  ordered  the  axes 
to  be  removed  from  the  fasces,  which  the  lictors  carried 
before  the  consuls,  and  the  next  day  appointed  Spurius 
Lucretius  for  his  colleague.  And  as  the  new  consul  was 
the  oldest  of  the  two,  Publicola  ordered  his  lictors  to  pass 
over  to  him ;  and  he  was  the  first  to  establish  the  rule, 
that  each  of  the  consuls  should  be  preceded  by  the  lictoi's 
in  alternate  months,  that  there  should  be  no  greater  ap- 
pearance of  imperial  insignia  among  the  free  people  than 
they  had  witnessed  in  the  days  of  their  kings.  Thus,  in 
my  opinion,  he  proved  himself  no  ordinary  man,  as,  by  so 
granting  the  people  a  moderate  degree  of  liberty,  he  more 
easily  maintained  the  authority  of  the  nobles. 

Nor  is  it  without  reason  that  I  have  related  to  you  these 
ancient  and  almost  obsolete  events;  but  I  wished  to  ad- 
duce my  instances  of  men  and  circumstances  from  illustri- 
ous persons  and  times,  as  it  is  to  such  events  that  the  rest 
of  my  discourse  will  be  directed. 

XXXIL  At  that  period,  then,  the  senate  preserved  the 
Commonwealth  in  such  a  condition  that  though  the  people 
were  really  free,  yet  few  acts  were  passed  by  the  people, 
but.  almost  all,  on  the  contrary,  by  the  authority,  customs, 
and  traditions  of  the  senate.  And  over  all  the  consuls 
exercised  a  power  —  in  time,  indeed,  only  annual,  but  in 
nature  and  prerogative  completely  royal. 

The  consuls  maintained,  with  the  greatest  energy,  that 
rule  which  so  much  conduces  to  the  power  of  our  nobles 
and  great  men,  that  the  acts  of  the  commons  of  the  people 

IS* 


418  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

shall  not  be  binding,  unless  the  authority  of  the  patricians 
has  approved  them.  About  the  same  period,  and  scarcely 
ten  years  after  the  first  consuls,  we  find  the  appointment 
of  the  dictator  in  the  person  of  Titus  Lartius.  And  this 
new  kind  of  power  —  namely,  the  dictatorship  —  appears 
exceedingly  similar  to  the  monarchical  royalty.  All  his 
power,  however,  was  vested  in  the  supreme  authority  of 
the  senate,  to  which  the  people  deferred ;  and  in  these 
times  great  exploits  were  performed  in  war  by  brave  men 
invested  with  the  supreme  command,  whether  dictators  or 
consuls. 

XXXIIT.  But  as  the  nature  of  things  necessarily 
brought  it  to  pass  that  the  people,  once  freed  from  its 
kings,  should  arrogate  to  itself  more  and  more  authority, 
we  observe  that  after  a  short  interval  of  only  sixteen  years, 
in  the  consulship  of  Postumus  Cominius  and  Spurius  Cas- 
sius,  they  attained  their  object ;  an  event  explicable,  per- 
haps, on  no  distinct  principle,  but,  nevertheless,  in  a  man- 
ner independent  of  any  distinct  principle.  For  recollect 
what  I  said  in  commencing  our  discourse,  that  if  there  ex- 
ists not  in  the  State  a  just  distribution  and  subordination 
of  rights,  offices,  and  prerogatives,  so  as  to  give  sufficient 
domination  to  the  chiefs,  sufficient  authority  to  the  coun- 
sel of  tlie  senators,  and  sufficient  liberty  to  the  people,  this 
form  of  the  government  cannot  be  durable. 

For  when  the  excessive  debts  of  the  citizens  had  thrown 
the  State  into  disorder,  the  people  first  retired  to  Mount 
Sacer,  and  next  occupied  Mount  Aventine.  And  even  the 
rigid  discipline  of  Lycurgus  could  not  maintain  those  re- 
straints in  the  case  of  the  Greeks.  For  in  Sparta  itself, 
under  the  reign  of  Theopompus,the  five  magistrates  whom 
they  term  Ephori,  and  in  Crete  ten  whom  they  entitle  Cos- 
mi,  were  established  in  opposition  to  the  royal  power,  just 
as  tribunes  were  added  among  us  to  counterbalance  the 
considar  authority. 

XXXIV.  There  might  have  been  a  method,  indeed,  by 
which  our  ancestors  could  have  been  relieved  from  the 
pressure  of  debt,  a  method  with  which  Solon  the  Athenian, 
who  lived  at  no  very  distant  period  before,  was  acquaint- 
ed, and  which  our  senate  did  not  neglect  when,  in  the  in- 
dignation which  the  odious  avarice  of  one  individual  ex- 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  419 

cited,  all  the  bonds  of  the  citizens  were  cancelled,  and  the 
right  of  arrest  for  a  while  suspended.  In  the  same  way, 
when  the  plebeians  were  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  the 
expenses  occasioned  by  public  misfortunes,  a  cure  and 
remedy  were  sought  for  the  sake  of  public  security.  The 
senate,  however,  having  forgotten  their  former  decision, 
gave  an  advantage  to  the  democracy ;  for,  by  the  creation 
of  two  tribunes  to  appease  the  sedition  of  the  people,  the 
power  and  authority  of  the  senate  were  diminished ;  which, 
however,  still  remained  dignified  and  august,  inasmuch  as 
it  was  still  composed  of  the  wisest  and  bravest  men,  who 
protected  their  country  both  with  their  arms  and  with 
their  counsels ;  whose  authority  was  exceedingly  strong 
and  flourishing,  because  in  honor  they  were  as  much  before 
their  fellow-citizens  as  they  were  inferior  in  luxuriousness, 
and,  as  a  general  rule,  not  superior  to  them  in  wealth.  And 
their  public  virtues  were  the  more  agreeable  to  the  people, 
because  even  in  private  matters  they  were  ready  to  serve 
every  citizen,  by  their  exertions,  their  counsels,  and  their 
liberality. 

XXXV.  Such  was  the  situation  of  the  Commonwealth 
when  the  quaestor  impeached  Spurius  Cassius  of  being  so 
much  emboldened  by  the  excessive  favor  of  the  people  as 
to  endeavor  to  make  himself  master  of  monarchical  power. 
And,  as  you  have  heard,  his  own  father,  having  said  that 
he  had  found  that  his  son  was  really  guilty  of  this  crime, 
condemned  him  to  death  at  the  instance  of  the  people. 
About  fifty -four  years  after  the  first  consulate,  Spurius 
Tarpeius  and  Aulus  Aternius  very  much  gratified  the  peo- 
ple by  proposing,  in  the  Comitia  Centuriata,  the  substi- 
tution of  fines  instead  of  corporal  punishments.  Twenty 
years  afterward,  Lucius  Papirius  and  Publius  Pinarius,  the 
censors,  having  by  a  strict  levy  of  fines  confiscated  to  the 
State  the  entire  flocks  and  herds  of  many  private  individ- 
uals, a  light  tax  on  the  cattle  was  substituted  for  the  law 
of  fines  in  the  consulship  of  Caius  Julius  and  Publius  Pa- 
pirius. 

XXXVI.  But,  some  years  previous  to  this,  at  a  period 
when  the  senate  possessed  the  supreme  influence,  and  the 
people  were  submissive  and  obedient,  a  new  system  was 
adopted.     At  that  time  both  the  consuls  and  tribunes  of 


420  ON   THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

the  people  abdicated  their  magistracies,  and  the  decemviri 
were  appointed,  who  were  invested  with  great  authority, 
from  wiiich  there  was  no  appeal  whatever,  so  as  to  exercise 
the  chief  domination,  and  to  compile  the  laws.  After  hav- 
ing composed,  with  much  wisdom  and  equity,  the  Ten  Ta- 
bles of  laws,  they  nominated  as  their  successors  in  the  en- 
suing year  other  decemviri,  whose  good  faith  and  justice 
do  not  deserve  equal  praise.  One  nuunber  of  this  college, 
however,  merits  our  highest  commendation.  I  allude  to 
Caius  Julius,  who  declared  respecting  the  nobleman  Lucius 
Sestius,  in  whose  chamber  a  dead  body  had  been  exhumed 
under  his  own  eyes,  that  though  as  decemvir  he  held  the 
highest  power  without  appeal,  he  still  required  bail,  be- 
cause he  was  unwilling  to  neglect  that  admirable  law  which 
permitted  no  court  but  the  Comitia  Centuriata  to  pro- 
nounce final  sentence  on  the  life  of  a  Roman  citizen. 

XXXYII.  A  third  year  followed  under  the  authority  of 
the  same  decemvirs,  and  still  they  were  not  disposed  to  ap- 
point their  successors.  In  a  situation  of  the  Common- 
wealth like  this,  which,  as  I  have  often  repeated,  could  not 
be  durable,  because  it  had  not  an  equal  operation  with  re- 
spect to  all  the  ranks  of  the  citizens,  the  whole  public  pow- 
er was  lodged  in  the  hands  of  the  chiefs  and  decemvirs  of 
the  highest  nobility,  witliout  the  counterbalancing  author- 
ity of  the  tribunes  of  the  people,  without  the  sanction  of 
any  other  magistracies,  and  without  appeal  to  the  people 
in  the  case  of  a  sentence  of  death  or  scourging. 

Thus,  out  of  the  injustice  of  these  men,  there  was  sud- 
denly produced  a  great  revolution,  which  changed  the  en- 
tire condition  of  the  government,  or  they  added  two  ta- 
bles of  very  tyrannical  laws,  and  though  matrimonial  alli- 
ances had  always  hdcn  permitted,  even  with  foreigners, 
they  forbade,  by  the  most  abominable  and  inhuman  edict, 
that  any  marriages  should  take  place  between  the  nobles 
and  the  commons — an  order  which  was  afterward  abrogat- 
ed by  the  decree  of  Canuleius.  Besides,  they  introduced 
into  all  their  political  measures  corruption,  cruelty,  and 
avarice.  And  indeed  the  story  is  well  known,  and  cele- 
brated in  many  literary  compositions,  that  a  certain  Dcci- 
mus  Virginius  was  obliged,  on  account  of  the  libidinous 
violence  of  one  of  these  decemvirs,  to  stab  his  virgin  daugh- 


ON   THE  COMMONWEALTH.  421 

ter  in  the  midst  of  the  fornm.  Then,  when  he  in  his  des- 
peration had  fled  to  the  Roman  army  which  was  encamp- 
ed on  Mount  Algidum,  the  soldiers  abandoned  the  war  in 
wliich  they  were  engaged,  and  took  possession  of  the  Sa- 
cred Mount,  as  they  had  done  before  on  a  similar  occasion, 
and  next  invested  Mount  Aventine  in  their  arnis.^  Our 
ancestors  knew  how  to  prove  most  thoroughly,  and  to  re- 
tain most  wisely.  *  *  * 

XXXVIII.  And  when  Scipiohad  spoken  in  this  manner, 
and  all  his  friends  were  awaiting  in  silence  the  rest  of  his 
discourse,  then  said  Tubero :  Since  these  men  who  are  old- 
er than  I,  my  Scipio,  make  no  fresh  demands  on  you,  I 
shall  take  the  liberty  to  tell  you  what  I  particularly  wish 
you  would  explain  in  your  subsequent  remarks. 

Do  so,  said  Scipio,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear. 

Then  Tubero  said :  You  appear  to  me  to  have  spoken 
a  panegyric  on  our  Commonwealth  of  Rome  exclusively, 
though  Lrelius  requested  your  views  not  only  of  the  gov- 
ernment of  our  own  State,  but  of  the  policy  of  states  in 
general.  I  have  not,  therefore,  yet  sufficiently  learned  from 
your  discourse,  with  respect  to  that  mixed  form  of  gov- 
ernment you  most  approve,  by  what  discipline,  moral  and 
legal,  we  may  be  best  able  to  establish  a«d  maintain  it. 

XXXIX.  Af ricanus  replied :  I  think  that  we  shall  soon 
find  an  occasion  better  adapted  to  the  discussion  you  have 
proposed,  respecting  the  constitution  and  conservatism  of 
states.  As  to  the  best  form  of  government,  I  think  on 
this  point  I  have  suificiently  answered  the  question  of 
La^lius.  For  in  answering  him,  I,  in  the  first  place,  spe- 
cifically noticed  the  three  simple  forms  of  government — 
monarchy,  aristocracy,  and  democracy;  and  the  three  vi- 
cious constitutions  contrary  to  them,  into  which  they  often 
degenerate;  and  I  said  that  none  of  these  forms,  taken 
separately,  was  absolutely  good  ;  but  I  described  as  pref- 
erable to  either  of  them  that  mixed  government  which  is 
composed  of  a  proper  amalgamation  of  these  simple  ingre- 
dients. If  I  have  since  depicted  our  own  Roman  consti- 
tution as  an  example,  it  was  not  in  order  to  define  the  very 
best  form  of  government,  for  that  may  be  understood 
without  an  example;  but  I  wished,  in  the  exhibition  of  a 

*  Here  eight  pages  are  missing. 


422  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

mighty  commonwealth  actually  in  existence,  to  render  dis- 
tinct and  visible  what  reason  and  discourse  would  vainly 
attempt  to  display  without  the  assistance  of  experimental 
illustration.  Yet,  if  you  still  require  me  to  describe  the 
best  form  of  government,  independent  of  all  particular 
examples,  we  must  consult  that  exactly  proportioned  and 
graduated  image  of  government  which  nature  herself  pre- 
sents to  her  investigators.  Since  you  *  *  *  this  model  of 
a  city  and  people^  *  *  * 

XL.  *  *  *  which  I  also  am  searching  for,  and  which  I 
am  anxious  to  arrive  at. 

Lcelius.  You  mean  the  model  that  would  be  approved 
by  the  truly  accomplished  politician  ? 

Scipio.  The  same. 

Jjcelius.  You  have  plenty  of  fair  patterns  even  now  be- 
fore you,  if  you  would  but  begin  with  yourself. 

Then  Scipio  said:  I  wish  I  could  find  even  one  such, 
even  in  the  entire  senate.  For  he  is  really  a  wise  politi- 
cian who,  as  we  have  often  seen  in  Africa,  while  seated  on 
a  huge  and  unsightly  elephant,  can  guide  and  rule  the 
monster,  and  turn  him  whichever  way  he  likes  by  a  slight 
admonition,  without  any  actual  exertion. 

LobUus.  I  recollect,  and  when  I  was  your  lieutenant  I 
often  saw,  one  of  these  drivers. 

Scipio.  Thus  an  Indian  or  Carthaginian  regulates  one 
of  these  huge  animals,  and  renders  him  docile  and  familiar 
with  human  manners.  But  the  genius  which  resides  in 
the  mind  of  man,  by  whatever  name  it  may  be  called,  is 
required  to  rein  and  tame  a  monster  far  more  multiform 
and  intractable,  whenever  it  can  accomplish  it,  which  in- 
deed is  seldom.  It  is  necessary  to  hold  in  with  a  strong 
hand  that  ferocious^  *  *  * 

XLI.  *  *  *  [beast,  denominated  the  mob,  which  thirsts 
after  blood]  to  such  a  degree  that  it  can  scarcely  be  sated 
with  the  most  hideous  massacres  of  men.  *  *  * 

But  to  a  man  who  is  greedy,  and  grasping,  and  lustful,  and  fond  of 
wallowing  in  voluptuousness. 

'  A  great  many  pages  are  missing  here. 

'  Several  pages  are  lost  here ;  the  passage  in  brackets  is  found  in 
Nonius  under  the  word  "  exulto." 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  423 

The  fourth  kind  of  anxiety  is  that  which  is  prone  to  mourning  and 
melancholy,  and  which  is  constantly  worrying  itself. 

[  The  next  paragraph,  '  '■Esse  autevi  angores, "  etc. ,  is  wholly  unintelli- 
gible without  the  context.^ 

As  an  unskilful  ciiarioteer  is  dragged  from  his  chariot,  covered  with 
dirt,  bruised,  and  lacerated. 

The  excitements  of  men's  minds  are  like  a  chariot,  with  horses  har- 
nessed to  it ;  in  the  proper  management  of  which,  the  chief  duty  of  the 
driver  consists  in  knowing  his  road  :  and  if  he  keeps  the  road,  then,  how- 
ever rapidly  he  proceeds,  he  will  encounter  no  obstacles ;  but  if  he  quits 
the  proper  track,  then,  although  he  may  be  going  gently  and  slowly,  he 
will  either  be  perplexed  on  rugged  ground,  or  fall  over  some  steep  place, 
or  at  least  he  will  be  carried  where  he  has  no  need  to  go.' 

XLII.  *  *  *  can  be  said. 

Then  Lselius  said :  I  now  see  the  sort  of  politician  you 
require,  on  whom  you  would  impose  the  office  and  task  of 
government,  which  is  what  I  wished  to  understand. 

He  must  be  an  almost  unique  specimen,  said  Africanus, 
for  the  task  which  I  set  him  comprises  all  others.  He 
must  never  cease  from  cultivating  and  studying  himself, 
that  he  may  excite  others  to  imitate  him,  and  become, 
through  the  splendor  of  his  talents  and  enterprises,  a  liv- 
ing mirror  to  his  countrymen.  For  as  in  flutes  and  harps, 
and  in  all  vocal  performances,  a  certain  unison  and  har- 
mony must  be  preserved  amidst  the  distinctive  tones, 
which  cannot  be  broken  or  violated  without  offending  ex- 
perienced ears  ;  and  as  this  concord  and  delicious  harmony 
is  produced  by  the  exact  gradation  and  modulation  of  dis- 
similar notes;  even  so,  by  means  of  Ihe  just  apportion- 
ment of  the  highest,  middle,  and  lower  classes,  the  State  is 
maintained  in  concord  and  peace  by  the  harmonic  subor- 
dination of  its  discordant  elements:  and  thus,  that  which 
is  by  musicians  called  harmony  in  song  answers  and  cor- 
responds to  what  we  call  concord  in  the  State — concord, 
the  strongest  and  loveliest  bond  of  security  in  every  com- 
monwealth, being  always  accompanied  by  justice  and 
equity. 

XLIII.  And  after  this,  when  Scipio  had  discussed  with  considerable 
breadth  of  principle  and  felicity  of  illustration  the  great  advantage  that 
justice  is  to  a  state,  and  the  great  injury  which  would  arise  if  it  were 

*  This  and  other  chapters  printed  in  smaller  type  are  generally  pre- 
sumed to  be  of  doubtful  authenticitv. 


424  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

wiinting,  Piliis,  one  of  those  who  were  present  at  the  discussion,  took  np 
thij  niatiLT  ;ind  demanded  that  this  question  should  be  argued  more  ca:e- 
fully,  and  that  sometiiing  more  should  be  said  about  justice,  on  account 
of  a  sentiment  that  was  now  obtaining  among  people  in  general,  that 
political  affairs  could  not  be  wholly  carried  on  without  some  disregard 
of  justice. 

XLIV.  *  *  *  to  be  full  of  justice. 

Then  Scipio  replied ;  I  certainly  think  so.  And  I  de- 
clare to  you  that  I  consider  that  all  I  have  spoken  respect- 
ing the  government  of  the  State  is  worth  nothing,  and 
that  it  will  be  useless  to  proceed  further,  unless  I  can 
prove  that  it  is  a  false  assertion  that  political  business 
cannot  be  conducted  without  injustice  and  corruption; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  establish  as  a  most  indisputable 
fact  that  without  the  strictest  justice  no  government  what- 
ever can  last  long. 

But,  with  your  permission,  we  have  had  discussion 
enough  for  the  day.  The  rest — and  much  remains  for 
our  consideration — we  will  defer  till  to-morrow.  When 
they  had  all  agreed  to  this,  the  debate  of  the  day  was 
closed. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  THIRD  BOOK, 

BY   THE   ORIGINAL   TRANSLATOR. 

CiCKRO  here  enters  on  the  grand  question  of  Political  Justice,  and  en- 
deavors to  evince  throughout  the  absolute  verity  of  that  inestimable 
proverb,  "  Honesty  is  the  best  j)olicy,"  in  all  public  as  well  as  in  all 
private  affairs.  St.  Augustine,  in  his  City  of  God,  has  given  the  fol- 
lowing analysis  of  this  magnificent  disquisition  : 

"  In  the  third  hook  of  Cicero's  Commonwealth  "  (says  he)  "the  question 
of  Political  Justice  is  most  earnestly  discussed.  Philus  is  appointed  to 
support,  as  well  as  he  can,  the  sophistical  arguments  of  those  who  think 
that  political  government  cannot  be  carried  on  without  the  aid  of  in- 
justice and  chicanery.  He  denies  holding  any  such  opinion  himself; 
yet,  in  order  to  exhibit  the  truth  more  vividly  tlirotigh  the  force  of 
contrast,  he  pleads  Avith  the  utmost  ingenuity  the  cause  of  injustice 
against  justice;  and  endeavors  to  show,  by  plausible  exam])les  and 
specious  dialectics,  that  injustice  is  as  useful  to  a  statesman  as  justice 
would  be  injurious.  Then  Lailius,  at  the  general  request,  takes  np  the 
plea  for  justice,  and  maintains  with  all  his  eloquence  that  nothing 
could  be  so  ruinous  to  states  as  injustice  and  dishonesty,  and  that 


ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH.  425 

without  a  supremo  justice  no  political  government  could  expect  a  long 
duration.  This  point  being  sufficiently  proved,  Scipio  returns  to  tlie 
principal  discussion,  lie  rei)roduces  and  enforces  the  short  definition 
that  he  had  given  of  a  commonwealth — that  it  consisted  in  tlie  wel- 
fare of  the  entire  people,  I)y  which  word  '  people '  he  does  not  mean 
the  mob,  but  the  community,  bound  together  by  the  sense  of  common 
rights  and  mutual  benefits.  He  notices  how  important  such  just  defi- 
nitions are  in  all  debates  whatever,  and  draws  this  conclusion  from 
the  preceding  arguments  —  that  the  Commonwealth  is  the  common 
welfare  whenever  it  is  swayed  with  justice  and  wisdom,  whetlier  it  be 
subordinated  to  a  king,  an  aristocracy,  or  a  democracy.  But  if  the 
king  be  unjust,  and  so  becomes  a  tyrant;  and  the  aristocracy  unjust, 
which  makes  them  a  faction  ;  or  the  democrats  unjust,  and  so  degen- 
erate into  revolutionists  and  destructives  —  then  not  only  the  Com- 
monwealth is  corrupted,  but  in  fact  annihilated.  For  it  can  be  no 
longer  the  common  welfare  w-hen  a  tyrant  or  a  faction  abuse  it;  and 
the  people  itself  is  no  longer  the  people  when  it  becomes  unjust,  since 
it  is  no  longer  a  community  associated  by  a  sense  of  right  and  utility, 
according  to  the  definition." — Aug.  Civ.  Dei.  3-21. 
This  book  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  statesmen,  as  it  serves  to  neu- 
tralize the  sophistries  of  Machiavelli,  which  are  still  repeated  in  many 
cabinets. 


BOOK  III. 

j^  *  *  *  1  Cicero,  in  the  third  book  of  his  treatise  On  a 
Commonwealth,  says  that  nature  has  treated  man  less  like 
a  mother  than  a  step-dame,  for  she  has  cast  him  into  mor- 
tal life  with  a  body  naked,  fragile,  and  infirm,  and  with  a 
mind  agitated  by  troubles,  depressed  by  fears,  broken  by 
labors,  and  exposed  to  passions.  In  this  mind,  however, 
there  lies  hidden,  and,  as  it  were,  buried,  a  certain  divine 
spark  of  genius  and  intellect. 

Though  man  is  born  a  frail  and  powerless  being,  never- 
theless he  is  safe  from  all  animals  destitute  of  voice ;  and 
at  the  same  time  those  other  animals  of  greater  strength, 
although  they  bravely  endure  the  violence  of  weather,  can- 
not be  safe  from  man.  And  the  result  is,  that  reason  does 
more  for  man  than  nature  does  for  brutes;  since,  in  the 
latter,  neither  the  greatness  of  their  strength  nor  the  firm- 
ness of  their  bodies  can  save  them  from  being  oppressed 
by  us,  and  made  subject  to  our  power.  *  *  * 

'  The  beginning  of  this  book  is  lost.  The  two  first  paragraphs  come, 
the  one  from  St.  Augustine,  the  other  from  Lactantius. 


426  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

Plato  returned  thanks  to  nature  that  he  had  been  born 
a  man. 

II.  *  *  *  aiding  our  slowness  by  carriages*  and  when 
it  had  taught  men  to  utter  the  elementary  and  confused 
sounds  of  unpolished  expression,  articulated  and  distin- 
guished them  into  their  proper  classes,  and,  as  their  ap- 
propriate signs,  attached  certain  words  to  certain  things, 
and  thus  associated,  by  the  most  delightful  bond  of  speech, 
the  once  divided  races  of  men. 

And  by  a  similar  intelligence,  the  inflections  of  the  voice, 
which  appeared  infinite,  are,  by  the  discovery  of  a  few 
alphabetic  characters,  all  designated  and  expressed ;  by 
which  we  maintain  converse  with  our  absent  friends,  by 
which  also  indications  of  our  wishes  and  monuments  of 
past  events  are  preserved.  Then  came  the  use  of  numbers 
— a  thing  necessary  to  human  life,  and  at  the  same  time 
immutable  and  eternal ;  a  science  which  first  urged  us  to 
raise  our  views  to  heaven,  and  not  gaze  without  an  object 
on  the  motions  of  the  stars,  and  the  distribution  of  days 
and  nights. 

III.  *  *  *  ^  [Then  appeared  the  sages  of  philosophy], 
whose  minds  took  a  higher  flight,  and  who  were  able  to 
conceive  and  to  execute  designs  worthy  of  the  gifts  of  the 
Gods.  Wherefore  let  those  men  who  have  left  us  sublime 
essays  on  the  principles  of  living  be  regarded  as  great  men 
— which  indeed  they  are — as  learned  men,  as  masters  of 
truth  and  virtue;  provided  that  these  principles  of  civil 
government,  this  system  of  governing  people,  whether  it 
be  a  thing  discovered  by  men  who  have  lived  amidst  a 
variety  of  political  events,  or  one  discussed  amidst  their 
opportunities  of  literary  tranquillity,  is  remembered  to  be, 
as  indeed  it  is,  a  thing  by  no  means  to  be  despised,  being 
one  which  causes  in  first-rate  minds,  as  we  not  unf requent- 
ly  see,  an  incredible  and  almost  divine  virtue.  And  when 
to  these  high  faculties  of  soul,  received  from  nature  and 
expanded  by  social  institutions,  a  politician  adds  learning 
and  extensive  information  concerning  things  in  general, 
like  those  illustrious  personages  who  conduct  the  dialogue 
in  the  present  treatise,  none  will  refuse  to  confess  the  su- 
periority of  such  persons  to  all  others;  for,  in  fact,  what 

*  Eight  or  nine  pages  are  lost  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  421 

can  be  more  admirable  than  the  study  and  practice  of  the 
grand  affairs  of  state,  united  to  a  Hterary  taste  and  a  fa- 
miliarity with  the  liberal  arts?  or  what  can  we  imagine 
more  perfect  than  a  Scipio,  a  Lselius,  or  a  Philus,  who,  not 
to  omit  anything  which  belonged  to  the  most  perfect  ex- 
cellence of  the  greatest  men,  joined  to  the  examples  of  our 
ancestors  and  the  traditions  of  our  countrymen  the  foreign 
philosophy  of  Socrates  ? 

Wherefore  he  who  had  both  the  desire  and  the  power 
to  acquaint  himself  thoroughly  both  with  the  customs  and 
the  learning  of  his  ancestors  appears  to  me  to  have  at- 
tained to  the  very  highest  glory  and  honor.  But  if  we 
cannot  combine  both,  and  are  compelled  to  select  one  of 
these  two  paths  to  wisdom — though  to  some  people  the 
tranquil  life  spent  in  the  research  of  literature  and  arts 
may  appear  to  be  the  most  happy  and  delectable  —  yet, 
doubtless,  the  science  of  politics  is  more  laudable  and  il- 
lustrious, for  in  this  political  field  of  exertion  our  greatest 
men  have  reaped  their  honors,  like  the  invincible  Curius, 

Whom  neither  gold  nor  iron  could  subdue. 

IV.  *  *  *  ^  that  wisdom  existed  still.  There  existed 
this  general  difference  between  these  two  classes,  that 
among  the  one  the  development  of  the  principles  of  nature 
is  the  subject  of  their  study  and  eloquence,  and  among  the 
other  national  laws  and  institutions  form  the  principal  top- 
ics of  investigation. 

In  honor  of  our  country,  we  may  assert  that  she  has 
produced  within  herself  a  great  number,  I  will  not  say  of 
sages  (since  philosophy  is  so  jealous  of  this  name),  but  of 
men  worthy  of  the  highest  celebrity,  because  by  them  the 
precepts  and  discoveries  of  the  sages  have  been  carried  out 
into  actual  practice.  And,  moreover,  though  there  have 
existed,  and  still  do  exist,  many  great  and  glorious  empires, 
yet  since  the  noblest  masterpiece  of  genius  in  the  world  is 
the  establishment  of  a  state  and  commonwealth  which  shall 
be  a  lasting  one,  even  if  we  reckon  but  a  single  legislator 
for  each  empire,  the  number  of  these  excellent  men  will  ap- 
pear very  numerous.  To  be  convinced  of  this,  we  have 
only  to  turn  our  eyes  on  any  nation  of  Italy,  Latium,  the 
*  Here  six  pages  are  lost. 


428  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

Sabines,  the  Volsciniis,  the  Samnites,  or  the  Etrurians,  .'ind 
then  direct  our  attention  to  that  mighty  nation  of  tlie 
Greeks,  and  then  to  the  Assyrians,  Persians,  and  Cartha- 
ginians, and  1  *  *  * 

V.  *  *  *  [Scipio  and  his  friends  having  again  assem- 
bled, Scipio  spoke  as  follows :  In  our  last  conversation, 
I  promised  to  prove  that  honesty  is  the  best  policy  in  all 
states  and  commonwealths  whatsoever.  But  if  I  am  to 
plead  in  favor  of  strict  honesty  and  justice  in  all  public  af- 
fairs, no  less  than  in  private,  I  must  request  Phil  us,  or  some 
one  else,  to  take  up  the  advocacy  of  the  other  side;  the 
truth  will  then  become  more  manifest,  from  the  collision 
of  opposite  arguments,  as  we  see  every  day  exemplified  at 
the  Bar.] 

And  Philus  replied :  In  good  truth,  you  have  allotted 
me  a  very  creditable  cause  when  you  wish  me  to  under- 
take the  defence  of  vice. 

Perhaps,  said  Lselius,  you  are  afraid,  lest,  in  reproducing 
the  ordinary  objections  made  to  justice  in  politics,  you 
should  seem  to  express  your  own  sentiments;  though  you 
are  universally  respected  as  an  almost  unique  example  of 
the  ancient  probity  and  good  faith  ;  nor  is  it  unknown  how 
familiar  you  are  with  the  lawyer-like  habit  of  disputing  on 
both  sides  of  a  question,  because  you  think  that  this  is  the 
best  way  of  getting  at  the  truth. 

And  Philus  said :  Yery  well ;  I  obey  you,  and  wilfully, 
with  my  eyes  open,  I  will  undertake  this  dirty  business ; 
because,  since  those  who  seek  for  gold  do  not  flinch  at  the 
sight  of  the  mud,  so  we  who  are  searching  for  justice, 
which  is  far  more  precious  than  gold,  are  bound  to  shrink 
from  no  annoyance.  And  I  wish,  as  I  am  about  to  make 
use  of  the  antagonist  arguments  of  a  foreigner,  I  might 
also  employ  a  foreign  language.  The  pleas,  therefore, 
now  to  be  urged  by  Lucius  Furius  Philus  are  those 
[once  employed  by]  the  Greek  Carneades,  a  man  who 
was  acoustomed  to  express  whatever  [served  his  turn].'' 

'  Here  twelve  pages  are  missing. 

"^  We  have  been  obliged  to  insert  two  or  three  of  these  sentences  be- 
tween brackets,  wliich  are  not  found  in  the  original,  for  the  sake  of 
showing  the  drift  of  the  arguments  of  Philus.  He  himself  was  fully 
convinced  that  justice  and  morality  were  of  eternal  and  immutable  obli- 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  429 

*  *  *  1  J^^^l  it  1)^.  understood,  therefore,  that  I  by  no  means 
express  my  own  sentiments,  but  those  of  Carneades,  in  or- 
der that  you  may  refute  this  philosopher,  who  was  wont  to 
turn  the  best  causes  into  joke,  through  the  mere  wanton- 
ness of  wit, 

VL  He  was  a  philosopher  of  the  Academic  School ;  and  if  any  one  is 
ii!;n()iant  of  his  great  power,  and  eloquence,  and  acuteness  in  arguing,  he 
limy  learn  it  from  the  mention  made  of  him  by  Cicero  or  by  Lucilius, 
when  Nei)tune,  discoursing  on  a  very  difficult  subject,  declares  that  it 
cannot  be  explained,  not  even  if  hell  were  to  restore  Carneades  himself 
for  the  purpose.  Tiiis  philosopher,  having  been  sent  by  the  Athenians  to 
Home  as  an  ambassador,  discussed  the  subject  of  justice  very  amply  in 
the  hearing  of  Galba  and  Cato  the  Censor,  who  were  the  greatest  orators 
of  the  day.  An-d  the  next  day  he  overturned  all  his  arguments  by  others 
of  a  contrary  tendency,  and  disparaged  justice,  which  the  day  before 
he  had  extolled ;  speaking  not  indeed  with  the  gravity  of  a  philosopher 
whose  wisdom  ought  to  be  steady,  and  whose  opinions  unchangeable, 
but  in  a  kind  of  rhetorical  exercise  of  arguing  on  each  side — a  practice 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  adopt,  in  order  to  be  able  to  refute  others 
who  were  asserting  anything.  The  arguments  by  which  he  disparaged 
justice  are  mentioned  by  Lucius  Furius  in  Cicero ;  I  suppose,  since  he 
was  discussing  the  Commonwealth,  in  order  to  introduce  a  defence  and 
panegyric  of  that  quality  without  which  he  did  not  think  a  commonwealth 
could  be  administered.  But  Carneades,  in  order  to  refute  Aristotle  and 
Plato,  the  advocates  of  justice,  collected  in  his  first  argument  everything 
that  was  in  the  habit  of  being  advanced  on  behalf  of  justice,  in  order 
afterward  to  be  able  to  overturn  it,  as  he  did. 

VII.  Many  philosophers  indeed,  and  especially  Plato  and  Aristotle, 
have  spoken  a  great  deal  of  justice,  inculcating  that  virtue,  and  extol- 
ling it  with  the  highest  praise,  as  giving  to  every  one  what  belongs  to 
him,  as  preserving  equity  in  all  things,  and  urging  that  while  the  other 
virtues  are,  as  it  were,  silent  and  shut  up,  justice  is  the  only  one  which 

gation,  and  that  the  best  interests  of  all  beings  lie  in  their  perpetual  de- 
velopment and  application.  This  eternity  of  Justice  is  beautifully  illus- 
trated by  Montesquieu.  "Long,"  says  he,  "before  positive  laws  were 
instituted,  the  moral  relations  of  justice  were  absolute  and  universal. 
To  say  that  there  were  no  justice  or  injustice  but  that  which  depends  on 
the  injunctions  or  prohibitions  of  positive  laws,  is  to  say  that  the  radii 
which  spring  from  a  centre  are  not  equal  till  we  have  formed  a  circle 
to  illustrate  the  proposition.  We  must,  therefore,  acknowledge  that  the 
relations  of  equity  were  antecedent  to  the  positive  laws  which  corrobo- 
rated them."  But  though  Philus  was  fully  convinced  of  this,  in  order 
to  give  his  friends  Scipio  and  La;lius  an  opportunity  of  proving  it,  he 
frankly  brings  forward  every  argument  for  injustice  that  sophistry  had 
ever  cast  in  the  teeth  of  reason. — 1S>/  the  original  Translator. 

'  Here  four  pages  are  missing.  The  following  sentence  is  preserved 
in  Nonius. 


430  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

is  not  absorbed  in  considerations  of  self-interest,  and  which  is  not  secret, 
but  finds  its  whole  field  for  exercise  out-of-doors,  and  is  desirous  of  do- 
ing good  and  serving  as  many  people  as  possible ;  as  if,  forsooth,  justice 
ought  to  exist  in  judges  only,  and  in  men  invested  with  a  certain  author- 
ity, and  not  in  every  one !  But  there  is  no  one,  not  even  a  man  of  the 
lowest  class,  or  a  beggar,  who  is  destitute  of  opportunities  of  displaying 
justice.  But  because  these  philosophers  knew  not  what  its  essence  was, 
or  whence  it  proceeded,  or  what  its  employment  was,  they  attributed 
that  first  of  all  virtues,  wliich  is  the  common  good  of  all  men,  to  a  few 
only,  and  asserted  that  it  aimed  at  no  advantage  of  its  own,  but  was 
anxious  only  for  that  of  others.  So  it  was  well  that  Carneades,  a  man 
of  the  greatest  genius  and  acuteness,  refuted  their  assertions,  and  over- 
threw that  justice  which  had  no  firm  foundation  ;  not  because  he  thought 
justice  itself  deserving  of  blame,  but  in  order  to  show  that  tliose  its  de- 
fenders had  brought  forward  no  trustworthy  or  strong  arguments  in  its 
behalf. 

Justice  looks  out-of-doors,  and  is  prominent  and  conspicuous  in  its 
whole  essence. 

Which  virtue,  beyond  all  others,  wholly  devotes  and  dedicates  itself 
to  the  advantage  of  others. 

VIII.  *  *  *  Both  to  discover  and  maintain.  While  the 
other,  Aristotle,  has  filled  four  large  volumes  with  a  dis- 
cussion on  abstract  justice.  For  I  did  not  expect  any- 
thing grand  or  magnificent  from  Chrysippus,  who,  after 
his  usual  fashion,  examines  everything  rather  by  the  sig- 
nification of  words  than  the  reality  of  things.  But  it  was 
surely  worthy  of  those  heroes  of  philosophy  to  ennoble  by 
their  genius  a  virtue  so  eminently  beneficent  and  liberal, 
which  everywhere  exalts  the  social  interests  above  the 
selfish,  and  teaches  us  to  love  others  rather  than  ourselves. 
It  was  worthy  of  their  genius,  we  say,  to  elevate  this  vir- 
tue to  a  divine  throne,  not  far  from  that  of  Wisdom.  And 
certainly  they  neither  wanted  the  will  to  accomplish  this 
(for  what  else  could  be  the  cause  of  their  writing  on  the 
subject,  or  what  could  have  been  their  design?)  nor  the 
genius,  in  which  they  excelled  all  men.  But  the  weakness 
of  their  cause  was  too  great  for  either  their  intention  or 
their  eloquence  to  make  it  popular.  In  fact,  this  justice 
on  which  w^e  reason  is  a  civil  right,  but  no  natural  one; 
for  if  it  were  natural  and  universal,  then  justice  and  in- 
justice would  be  recognized  similarly  by  all  men,  just  as 
the  heat  and  cold,  sweetness  and  bitterness. 

IX.  Now,  if  any  one,  carried  in  that  chariot  of  winged 
serpents  of  wliich  the  poet  Pacuvius  makes  mention,  could 


ON   THE   COMMONWEALTH.  431 

take  his  flight  over  all  nations  and  cities,  and  accurately 
observe  their  proceedings,  he  would  see  that  the  sense  of 
justice  and  right  varies  in  different  regions.  In  the  first 
place,  he  would  behold  among  the  unchangeable  people  of 
Egypt,  which  preserves  in  its  archives  the  memory  of  so 
many  ages  and  events,  a  bull  adored  as  a  Deity,  under  the 
name  of  Apis,  and  a  multitude  of  other  monsters,  and  all 
kinds  of  animals  admitted  by  the  same  nation  into  the 
number  of  the  Gods. 

In  the  next  place,  he  would  see  in  Greece,  as  among  our- 
selves, magnificent  temples  consecrated  by  images  in  hu- 
man form,  which  the  Persians  regarded  as  impious ;  and  it 
is  affirmed  that  the  sole  motive  of  Xerxes  for  command- 
ing the  conflagration  of  the  Athenian  temples  was  the  be- 
lief that  it  was  a  superstitious  sacrilege  to  keep  confined 
within  narrow  walls  the  Gods,  whose  proper  home  was 
the  entire  universe.  But  afterward  Philip,  in  his  hostile 
projects  against  the  Persians,  and  Alexander,  who  carried 
them  into  execution,  alleged  this  plea  for  war,  that  they 
were  desirous  to  avenge  the  temples  of  Greece,  which  the 
Greeks  had  thought  proper  never  to  rebuild,  that  this 
monument  of  the  impiety  of  the  Persians  might  always 
remain  before  the  eyes  of  their  posterity. 

How  many — such  as  the  inhabitants  of  Taurica  along 
the  Euxfne  Sea ;  as  the  King  of  Egypt,  Busiris ;  as  the 
Gauls  and  the  Carthaginians — have  thought  it  exceedingly 
pious  and  agreeable  to  the  Gods  to  sacrifice  men !  And, 
besides,  the  customs  of  life  are  so  various  that  the  Cre- 
tans and  ^tolians  regard  robbery  as  honorable.  And 
the  Lacedaemonians  say  that  their  territory  extends  to  all 
places  which  they  can  touch  with  a  lance.  The  Atheni- 
ans had  a  custom  of  swearing,  by  a  public  proclamation, 
that  all  the  lands  which  produced  olives  and  corn  were 
their  own.  The  Gauls  consider  it  a  base  employment  to 
raise  corn  by  agricultural  labor,  and  go  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  and  mow  down  the  harvests  of  neighboring  peo- 
ples. But  we  ourselves,  the  most  equitable  of  all  nations, 
who,  in  order  to  raise  the  value  of  our  vines  and  olives,  do 
not  permit  the  races  beyond  the  Alps  to  cultivate  either 
vineyards  or  oliveyards,  are  said  in  this  matter  to  act  with 
prudence,  but  not  with  justice.     You  see,  then,  that  wis- 


432  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

doiii  and  policy  are  not  always  the  same  as  equity.  And 
Lyciirgus,  that  famous  inventor  of  a  most  admirable  ju- 
risprudence and  most  wholesome  laws,  gave  the  lands  of 
the  rich  to  be  cultivated  by  the  common  people,  who  were 
reduced  to  slavery. 

X.  If  I  were  to  describe  the  diverse  kinds  of  laws,  in- 
stitutions, manners,  and  customs,  not  only  as  they  vary  in 
the  numerous  nations,  but  as  they  vary  likewise  in  single 
cities — in  tliis  one  of  ours,  for  example — I  could  prove  that 
they  have  had  a  thousand  revolutions.  For  instance,  that 
eminent  expositor  of  our  laws  who  sits  in  the  present  com- 
pany— I  mean  Manilius — if  you  were  to  consult  him  rela- 
tive to  the  legacies  and  inheritances  of  women,  he  would 
tell  you  that  the  present  law  is  quite  different  from  that  he 
was  accustomed  to  plead  in  his  youth,  before  the  Voconian 
enactment  came  into  force — an  edict  which  was  passed  in 
favor  of  the  interests  of  the  men,  but  which  is  evidently 
full  of  injustice  with  regard  to  women.  For  why  should 
a  woman  be  disabled  from  inheriting  property?  Why 
can  a  vestal  virgin  become  an  heir,  while  her  mother  can- 
not? And  why,  admitting  that  it  is  necessary  to  set  some 
limit  to  the  wealth  of  women,  should  Crassus's  daughter, 
if  she  be  his  only  child,  inherit  thousands  without  offend- 
ing the  law,  while  my  daughter  can  only  receivQ  a  small 
share  in  a  bequest.^  *  *  * 

XI.  *  *  *  [If  this  justice  were  natural,  innate,  and  uni- 
versal, all  men  would  admit  the  same]  law  and  right,  and 
the  same  men  would  not  enact  different  laws  at  diff'erent 
times.  If  a  just  man  and  a  virtuous  man  is  bound  to  obey 
the  laws,  I  ask,  what  laws  do  you  mean  ?  Do  you  intend 
all  tlie  laws  indifferently?  But  neither  does  virtue  per- 
mit this  inconstancy  in  moi'al  obligation,  nor  is  such  a  va- 
riation compatible  with  natural  conscience.  The  laws  are, 
therefore,  based  not  on  our  sense  of  justice,  but  on  our  fear 
of  punishment.  There  is,  therefore,  no  natural  justice; 
and  hence  it  follows  that  men  cannot  be  just  by  natui-e. 

Are  men,  then,  to  say  that  variations  indeed  do  exist  in 

the  laws,  but  that  men  who  are  virtuous  through  natural 

conscience  follow  that  which  is  really  justice,  and  not  a 

mere  semblance  and  disguise,  and  that  it  is  the  distinguish- 

'  Two  pages  are  missing  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  433 

ing  characteristic  of  the  truly  just  aud  virtuous  man  to 
render  every  one  his  due  rights?  Are  we,  then,  to  attrib- 
ute the  first  of  these  characteristics  to  animals  ?  For  not 
only  men  of  moderate  abilities,  but  even  first-rate  sages 
and  philosophers,  as  Pythagoras  and  Empedocles,  declare 
that  all  kinds  of  living  creatui-es  have  a  right  to  the  same 
justice.  They  declare  that  inexpiable  penalties  impend 
over  those  who  have  done  violence  to  any  animal  whatso- 
ever. It  is,  therefore,  a  crime  to  injure  an  animal,  and  the 
perpetrator  of  such  crime^  *  *  * 

Xir.  For  when  he^  inquired  of  a  pirate  by  what  riglit  he  dared  to  in- 
fest the  sea  with  his  little  brigantine:  "By  the  same  right,"  he  replied, 
"  wiiich  is  your  warrant  for  conquering  the  world."  *  *  * 

Wisdom  and  prudence  instruct  ns  by  all  means  to  increase 
our  power,  riches,  and  estates.  For  by  what  means  could 
this  same  Alexander,  that  illustrious  general,  who  extend- 
ed his  empire  over  all  Asia,  without  violating  the  proper- 
ty of  other  men,  have  acquired  such  universal  dominion, 
enjoyed  so  many  pleasures,  such  great  power,  and  reigned 
without  bound  or  limit? 

But  justice  commands  ns  to  have  niercy  upon  all  men, 
to  consult  the  interests  of  the  whole  human  race, to  give  to 
every  one  ais  due,  and  injure  no  sacred,  public,  or  foreign 
rights,  and  to  forbear  touching  what  does  not  belong  to  ns. 
What  is  the  result,  then  ?  If  you  obey  the  dictates  of 
wisdom,  then  wealth,  power,  riches,  honors,  provinces,  and 
kingdoms,  from  all  classes,  peoples,  and  nations,  are  to  be 
aimed  at. 

However,  as  we  are  discussing  public  matters,  those  ex- 
amples are  more  illustrious  which  refer  to  what  is  done 
publicly.  And  since  the  question  between  justice  and  pol- 
icy applies  equally  to  private  and  public  affaii'S,  I  think  it 
well  to  speak  of  the  wisdom  of  the  people.  I  will  not, 
however,  mention  other  nations,  but  come  at  once  to  our 
own  Roman  people,  whom  Africanus,  in  his  discourse  yes- 
terday, traced  from  the  cradle,  and  whose  empire  now  era- 
braces  the  whole  world.     Justice  is^  *  *  * 

^  Several  pages  are  missing  here. 
^  He  means  Alexander  the  Great. 
'  Six  or  eight  pages  are  lost  here. 
19 


434  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

Xlir.  How  far  utility  is  at  varicance  with  justice  we  may  learn  from 
the  Koman  people  itself,  which,  declaring  war  by  means  of  the  fecials, 
and  committing  injustice  with  all  legal  formality,  always  coveting  and 
laying  violent  hands  on  the  property  of  others,  acquired  the  possession 
of  the  whole  world. 

What  is  the  advantage  of  one's  own  country  but  the  disadvantnge  of 
another  state  or  nation,  by  extending  one's  dominions  by  territories  evi- 
dently wrested  from  others,  increasing  one's  power,  improving  one's  rev- 
enues, etc.  ?  Therefore,  whoever  has  obtained  these  advantages  for  his 
country — that  is  to  say,  whoever  has  overthrown  cities,  subdued  nations, 
and  by  these  means  filled  the  treasury  with  money,  taken  lands,  and  en- 
riched his  fellow-citizens — such  a  man  is  extolled  to  the  skies  ;  is  be- 
lieved to  be  endowed  with  consummate  and  perfect  virtue;  and  this  mis- 
take is  fallen  into  not  only  by  the  populace  and  the  ignorant,  but  by  phi- 
losophers, who  even  give  rules  for  injustice. 

XIV.  *  *  *  For  all  those  who  have  the  right  of  life  and 
death  over  the  people  are  in  fact  tyrants ;  but  they  prefer 
being  called  by  the  title  of  king,  which  belongs  to  the  all- 
good  Jupiter.  But  when  certain  men,  by  favor  of  wealth, 
birth,  or  any  other  means,  get  possession  of  the  entire  gov- 
ernment, it  is  a  faction ;  but  they  choose  to  denominate 
themselves  an  aristocracy.  If  the  people  gets  the  upper 
hand,  and  rules  everything  after  its  capricious  will,  they 
call  it  liberty,  but  it  is  in  fact  license.  And  when  every 
man  is  a  guard  upon  his  neighbor,  and  every  class  is  a 
guard  upon  every  other  class,  then  because  no  one  trusts 
in  his  own  strength,  a  kind  of  compact  is  formed  between 
the  great  and  the  little,  from  \vhence  arises  that  mixed 
kind  of  government  which  Scipio  has  been  commending. 
Thus  justice,  according  to  these  facts,  is  not  the  daugh- 
ter of  nature  or  conscience,  but  of  human  imbecility.  For 
when  it  becomes  necessary  to  choose  between  these  three 
predicaments,  either  to  do  \vrong  without  retribution,  or 
to  do  wrong  with  retribution,  or  to  do  no  wrong  at  all, 
it  is  best  to  do  wrong  with  impunity ;  next,  neither  to  do 
wrong  nor  to  suffer  for  it;  but  nothing  is  more  wretched 
than  to  struggle  incessantly  between  tlie  wrong  we  inflict 
and  that  we  receive.  Therefore,  he  who  attains  to  that 
first  end^  *  *  * 

XV.  This  was  the  sum  of  the  argument  of  Carnendes:  that  men  had 
established  laws  among  themselves  from  considerations  of  advantage, 

*  A  great  many  pages  are  missing  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  435 

vaijing  them  according  to  their  different  customs,  and  altering  them 
often  so  as  to  adapt  them  to  the  times ;  but  that  there  was  no  such  thing 
as  natural  law ;  that  all  men  and  all  other  animals  are  led  to  their  own 
advantage  by  the  guidance  of  nature ;  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  jus- 
tice, or,  if  there  be,  tliat  it  is  extreme  folly,  since  a  man  would  injure 
himself  while  consulting  the  interests  of  others.  And  he  added  these 
arguments,  that  all  nations  who  were  flourishing  and  dominant,  and 
even  the  Komans  tiiemselves,  who  were  the  masters  of  the  whole  Avorld, 
if  they  wished  to  be  just — that  is  to  say,  if  they  restored  all  that  belonged 
to  others — would  have  to  return  to  their  cottages,  and  to  lie  down  in 
want  and  misery. 

Except,  perhaps,  of  the  Arcadians  and  Athenians,  wlio, 
I  presume,  dreading  that  this  great  act  of  retribution 
might  one  day  arrive,  pretend  that  they  were  sprung  from 
the  earth,  like  so  many  field-mice. 

XVI.  In* reply  to  these  statements,  the  following  argu- 
ments are  often  adduced  by  those  who  are  not  unskilful  in 
discussions,  and  who,  in  this  question,  have  all  the  greater 
weight  of  authority,  because,  when  we  inquire,  Who  is  a 
good  man? — understanding  by  that  term  a  frank  and  sin- 
gle-minded man — w^e  have  little  need  of  captious  casuists, 
quibblers,  and  slanderers.  For  those  men  assert  that  the 
wise  man  does  not  seek  virtue  because  of  the  personal 
gratification  which  the  practice  of  justice  and  beneficence 
procures  him,  but  rather  because  the  life  of  the  good  man 
is  free  from  fear,  care,  solicitude,  and  peril;  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  wicked  always  feel  in  their  souls  a  certain 
suspicion,  and  always  behold  before  their  eyes  images  of 
judgment  and  punishment.  Do  not  you  think,  therefore, 
that  there  is  any  benefit,  or  that  there  is  any  advantage 
which  can  be  procured  by  injustice,  precious  enough  to 
counterbalance  the  constant  pressure  of  remorse,  and  the 
haunting  consciousness  that  retribution  awaits  the  sinnei", 
and  hangs  over  his  devoted  head.^  *  -i«  * 

XYII.  [Our  philosophers,  therefore,  put  a  case.  Sup- 
pose, say  they,  two  men,  one  of  whom  is  an  excellent  and 
admirable  person,  of  high  honor  and  remarkable  integrity; 
the  latter  is  distinguished  by  nothing  but  his  vice  and  au- 
dacity. And  suppose  that  their  city  has  so  mistaken  their 
characters  as  to  imagine  the  good  man  to  be  a  scandalous, 
impious,  and  audacious  criminal,  and  to  esteem  the  wicked 
'  Six  or  eight  pages  are  missing  here. 


436  ON   THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

man,  on  the  contrary,  as  a  pattern  of  probity  and  fidelity. 
On  account  of  this  error  of  their  fellow-citizens,  the  good 
man  is  arrested  and  tormented,  his  hands  are  cut  off,  his 
eyes  are  plucked  out,  he  is  condemned,  bound,  burned, 
extermijnated,  reduced  to  want,  and  to  the  last  appears  to 
all  men  to  be  most  deservedly  the  most  miserable  of  men. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  flagitious  wretch  is  exalted,  wor- 
shipped, loved  by  all,  and  honors,  offices,  riches,  and  emol- 
uments are  all  conferred  on  him,  and  he  shall  be  reckoned 
by  his  fellow-citizens  the  best  and  worthiest  of  mortals, 
and  in  the  highest  degree  deserving  of  all  manner  of  pros- 
perity. Yet,  for  all  this,  who  is  so  mad  as  to  doubt  which 
of  these  two  men  he  would  rather  be  ? 

XVIII.  What  happens  among  individuals  happens  also 
among  nations.  Tliei-e  is  no  state  so  absurd  and  ridiculous 
as  not  to  prefer  unjust  dominion  to  just  subordination. 
I  need  not  go  far  for  examples.  During  my  own  consul- 
ship, wlien  you  were  my  fellow-counsellors,  we  consulted 
respecting  the  treaty  of  Numantia.  No  one  was  ignorant 
that  Quintus  Pompey  had  signed  a  treaty,  and  that  Man- 
cinus  had  done  the  same.  The  latter,  being  a  virtuous 
man,  supported  the  proposition  which  I  laid  before  tlie 
people,  after  the  decree  of  the  senate.  The  former,  on  the 
other  side,  opposed  it  vehemently.  If  modesty,  probity, 
or  faith  had  been  regarded,  Mancinus  would  have  cai-ried 
his  point ;  but  in  reason,  counsel,  and  prudence,  Pompey 
surpassed  him.     AVhether^  *  *  * 

XIX.  If  a  man  should  have  a  faithless  slave,  or  an  un- 
wholesome house,  with  whose  defect  he  alone  was  ac- 
quainted, and  he  advertised  them  for  sale,  would  he  state 
the  fact  that  his  servant  was  infected  with  knavery,  and 
his  house  with  malaria,  or  would  he  conceal  these  objec- 
tions from  the  buyer?  If  he  stated  those  facts,  he  would 
be  honest,  no  doubt,  because  he  would  deceive  nobody; 
but  still  he  would  be  tliought  a  fool,  because  lie  would  ei- 
ther get  very  little  for  his  property,  or  else  fail  to  sell  it  at 
all.  By  concealing  these  defects,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
will  be  called  a  shrewd  man — as  one  who  has  taken  care 
of  his  own  interest;  but  he  will  be  a  rogue,  notwithstand- 
ing, because  he  will  be  deceiving  liis  neighbors.     Again, 

^  Several  pages  are  lost  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  437 

let  US  suppose  that  one  man  nieots  another,  who  sells  gold 
and  silver,  conceiving  them  to  be  copper  or  lead  ;  shall  he 
hold  his  peace  that  he  may  make  a  capital  bargain,  or  cor- 
rect the  mistake,  and  purchase  at  a  fair  rate?  He  would 
evidently  be  a  fool  in  the  world's  opinion  if  he  preferred 
the  latter. 

XX.  It  is  justice,  beyond  all  question,  neither  to  com- 
mit murder  nor  robbery.  What,  then,  would  your  just 
man  do,  if,  in  a  case  of  shipwreck,  he  saw  a  weaker  man 
than  himself  get  possession  of  a  plank?  Would  he  not 
thrust  him  off,  get  hold  of  the  timber  himself,  and  escnpe 
by  his  exertions,  especially  as  no  human  witness  could  be 
present  in  the  mid-sea?  If  he  acted  like  a  wise  man  of 
the  world,  he  would  certainly  do  so,  for  to  act  in  any  oth- 
er way  would  cost  him  his  life.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
prefers  death  to  inflicting  unjustifiable  injury  on  his  neigh- 
boi',  he  will  be  an  eminently  honorable  and  just  man,  but 
not  the  less  a  fool,  because  he  saved  another's  life  at  the 
expense  of  his  own.  Again,  if  in  case  of  a  defeat  and 
rout,  when  the  enemy  were  pressing  in  the  rear,  this  just 
man  should  find  a  wounded  comrade  mounted  on  a  horse, 
shall  he  respect  his  right  at  the  risk  of  being  killed  him- 
self, or  shall  he  fling  him  from  the  horse  in  order  to  pre- 
serve his  own  life  from  the  pursuers?  If  he  does  so, ho 
is  a  wise  man,  but  at  the  same  time  a  wicked  one ;  if  ho 
does  not,  he  is  admirably  just,  but  at  the  same  time  stupid. 

XXI.  Scipio.  I  might  reply  at  great  length  to  these 
sophistical  objections  of  Philus,  if  it  were  not,  my  Laelius, 
that  all  our  friends  are  no  less  anxious  than  myself  to 
hear  you  take  a  leading  part  in  the  present  debate,  espe- 
cially as  you  promised  yesterday  that  you  would  plead  at 
large  on  my  side  of  the  argument.  If  you  cannot  spare  time 
for  this,  at  any  rate  do  not  desert  us;  we  all  ask  it  of  you. 

Lodius.  This  Carneades  ought  not  to  be  even  listened  to 
by  our  young  men.  I  think  all  the  while  that  I  am  hearing 
him  that  he  must  be  a  very  impure  person ;  if  he  be  not,  as 
I  would  fain  believe,  his  discourse  is  not  less  pernicious. 

XXII.^  True  law  is  right  reason  conformable  to  nature, 

^  This  and  the  following  chapters  are  not  the  actual  words  of  Cicero, 
but  quotations  by  Lactantius  and  Augustine  of  what  they  affirm  that  he 
said. 


438        '  ON   THE  COMMONWEALTIL 

universal,  unchangeable,  eternal,  whose  commands  urge  us 
to  duty,  and  whose  prohibitions  restrain  us  from  evil. 
Whether  it  enjoins  or  forbids,  the  good  respect  its  injunc- 
tions, and  the  wicked  treat  them  with  indifference.  This 
law  cannot  be  contradicted  by  any  other  law,  and  is  not 
liable  either  to  derogation  or  abrogation.  Neither  the 
senate  nor  the  people  can  give  us  any  dispensation  for  not 
obeying  this  universal  law  of  justice.  It  needs  no  other 
expositor  and  interpreter  than  our  own  conscience.  It  is 
not  one  thing  at  Rome,  and  another  at  Athens  ;  one  thing 
to-day,  and  another  to-morrow;  but  in  all  times  and  na- 
tions this  universal  law  must  forever  reign,  eternal  and  im- 
perishable. It  is  the  sovereign  master  and  emperor  of  all 
beings.  God  himself  is  its  author,  its  promulgator,  its  en- 
forcer. And  he  who  does  not  obey  it  flies  from  himself, 
and  does  violence  to  the  very  nature  of  man.  And  by  so 
doing  he  will  endure  the  severest  penalties  even  if  he 
avoid  the  other  evils  wdiich  are  usually  accounted  punish- 
ments. 

XXIII.  I  am  aware  that  in  the  tliird  book  of  Cicero's  treatise  on  the 
Commonwealth  (unless  I  am  mistaken)  it  is  argued  that  no  war  is  ever 
undertaken  by  a  well-regulated  commonwealth  unless  it  be  one  eitiier  for 
the  sake  of  keeping  faith,  or  for  safety  ;  and  what  he  means  by  a  wav 
for  safety,  and  what  safety  he  wislies  us  to  understand,  he  jjoints  out  in 
another  passage,  where  he  says,  "But  private  men  often  escape  from 
these  penalties,  which  even  the  most  stupid  persons  feel — want,  exile, 
imprisonment,  and  stripes — by  embracing  the  opportunity  of  a  speedy 
death  ;  but  to  states  death  itself  is  a  penalty,  tliougli  it  appears  to  deliver 
individuals  from  punishment.  For  a  state  ought  to  be  established  so  as 
to  be  eternal :  therefore,  there  is  no  natural  decease  for  a  state,  as  there 
is  for  a  man,  in  whose  case  death  is  not  only  inevitable,  but  often  even 
desirable;  but  when  a  state  is  put  an  end  to,  it  is  destroyed,  extin- 
guished. It  is  in  some  degree,  to  compare  small  things  with  great,  as  if 
this  whole  world  were  to  perish  and  fall  to  pieces." 

In  his  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth,  Cicero  says  those  wai's  are  un- 
just which  are  undertaken  without  reason.  Again,  after  a'few  sentences, 
he  adds,  No  war  is  considered  just  unless  it  be  formally  announced  and 
declared,  and  unless  it  be  to  obtain  restitution  of  what  has  been  taken 
away. 

But  our  nation,  by  defending  its  allies,  has  now  become  the  master 
of  all  the  whole  world. 

XXIV.  Also,  in  that  same  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth,  he  argues 
most  strenuously  and  vigorously  in  the  cause  of  justice  against  injustice. 
And  since,  wlien  a  little  time  before  the  part  of  injustice  was  upheld 
against  justice,  and  the  doctrine  was  urged  that  a  republic  could  not 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  439 

prosper  and  flourish  except  by  injustice,  this  was  put  forward  as  the 
strongest  argument,  that  it  was  unjust  for  men  to  serve  other  men  as 
their  masters ;  but  that  unless  a  dominant  state,  such  as  a  great  repub- 
lic, acted  on  this  injustice,  it  could  not  govern  its  provinces ;  answer 
was  made  on  behalf  of  justice,  that  it  was  just  that  it  should  be  so,  be- 
cause slavery  is  advantageous  to  such  men,  and  their  interests  are  con- 
sulted by  a  right  course  of  conduct — that  is,  by  the  license  of  doing  in- 
jury being  taken  from  the  wicked — and  they  will  fare  better  when  subju- 
gated, because  when  not  subjugated  they  fared  worse:  and  to  confirm 
this  reasoning,  a  noble  instance,  taken,  as  it  were,  from  nature,  was 
added,  and  it  was  said,  Why,  then,  does  God  govern  man,  and  why 
does  the  mind  govern  the  body,  and  reason  govern  lust,  and  the  other 
vicious  parts  of  the  mind? 

XXV.  Hear  what  Tally  says  more  plainly  still  in  the  third  book  of 
his  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth,  when  discussing  the  reasons  for  gov- 
ernment. Do  we  not,  says  he,  see  that  nature  herself  has  given  the 
power  of  dominion  to  everything  that  is  best,  to  the  extreme  advantage 
of  what  is  subjected  to  it?  Why,  then,  does  God  govern  man,  and  why 
does  the  mind  govern  the  body,  and  reason  govern  lust  and  passion  and 
the  other  vicious  parts  of  the  same  mind  ?  Listen  thus  far ;  for  present- 
ly he  adds,  But  still  there  are  dissimilarities  to  be  recognized  in  govern- 
ing and  in  obeying.  For  as  the  mind  is  said  to  govern  the  body,  and 
also  to  govern  lust,  still  it  governs  the  body  as  a  king  governs  his  sub- 
jects, or  a  parent  his  children  ;  but  it  governs  lust  as  a  master  governs 
his  slaves,  because  it  restrains  and  breaks  it.  The  authority  of  kings, 
of  generals,  of  magistrates,  of  fothers,  and  of  nations,  rules  their  subjects 
and  allies  as  the  mind  rules  bodies ;  but  masters  control  their  slaves,  as 
the  best  part  of  the  mind — that  is  to  say,  wisdom — controls  the  vicious 
and  weak  parts  of  itself,  such  as  lust,  passion,  and  the  other  perturba- 
tions. 

For  there  is  a  kind  of  unjust  slavery  when  those  belong  to  some  one 
else  who  might  be  their  own  masters ;  but  when  those  are  slaves  who 
cannot  govern  themselves,  there  is  no  injury  done. 

XXVI.  If,  says  Carneades,  you  were  to  know  that  an  asp  was  lying 
hidden  anywhere,  and  that  some  one  who  did  not  know  it  was  going  to 
sit  upon  it,  whose  death  would  be  a  gain  to  you,  you  would  act  wickedly 
if  you  did  not  warn  him  not  to  sit  down.  Still,  you  would  not  be  liable 
to  punishment;  for  who  could  prove  that  you  had  known?  But  we  are 
bringing  forward  too  many  instances;  for  it  is  plain  that  unless  equity, 
good  faith,  and  justice  proceed  from  nature,  and  if  all  these  things  are 
referred  to  interest,  a  good  man  cannot  be  found.  And  on  these  topics 
a  great  deal  is  said  by  LobHus  in  our  treatise  on  the  llepublic. 

If,  as  we  are  reminded  by  you,  we  have  spoken  well  in  that  treatise, 
when  we  said  that  nothing  is  good  excepting  what  is  honorable,  and 
nothing  bad  excepting  what  is  disgraceful.  *  *  * 

XXVII.  I  am  glad  that  you  approve  of  the  doctrine  that  the  affection 
borne  to  our  children  is  implanted  by  nature;  indeed,  if  it  be  not,  there 
can  be  no  conection  between  man  and  man  which  has  its  origin  in  nat- 
ure. And  if  there  be  not,  then  there  is  an  end  of  all  society  in  life. 
May  it  turn  out  well,  says  Carneades,  spealiing  shamelessly,  but  stiU 


440  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

more  sensibly  than  my  fiiend  Lucius  or  Patro :  for,  as  they  refer  every- 
thing to  themselves,  do  they  think  that  anything  is  eve/  done  for  the 
sake  of  another?  And  when  they  say  that  a  man  ought  to  be  good,  in 
order  to  avoid  misfortune,  not  because  it  is  right  by  nature,  they  do  not 
perceive  that  they  are  speaking  of  a  cunning  man,  not  of  a  good  one. 
But  these  arguments  are  argued,  I  think,  in  those  books  by  praising 
which  you  have  given  me  spirits. 

In  which  I  agree  that  an  anxious  and  hazardous  justice  is  not  that  of 
a  wise  man, 

XXVIII.  And  again,  in  Cicero,  that  same  advocate  of  justice,  Lae- 
lins,  says,  Virtue  is  clearly  eager  for  honor,  nor  has  she  any  other  re- 
ward ;  which,  however,  she  accepts  easily,  and  exacts  without  bitterness. 
And  in  another  place  the  same  La3lius  says : 

When  a  man  is  inspired  by  virtue  such  as  this,  what 
bribes  can  you  offer  him,  what  treasures,  what  thrones, 
what  empires  ?  He  considers  these  but  mortal  goods,  and 
esteems  his  own  divine.  And  if  the  ingratitude  of  the 
people,  and  the  envy  of  his  competitors,  or  the  violence  of 
powerful  enemies,  despoil  his  virtue  of  its  earthly  recom- 
pense, he  still  enjoys  a  thousand  consolations  in  the  appro- 
bation of  conscience,  and  sustains  himself  by  contemjjlat- 
ing  the  beauty  of  moral  rectitude. 

XXIX.  *  *  *  This  virtue,  in  order  to  be  true,  must  be 
universal.  Tiberius  Gracchus  continued  faithful  to  his 
fellow -citizens,  but  he  violated  the  rights  and  treaties 
guaranteed  to  our  alhes  and  the  Latin  peoples.  But  if 
this  habit  of  arbitrary  violence  begins  to  extend  itself  fur- 
ther, and  perverts  our  authority,  leading  it  from  right  to 
violence,  so  that  those  who  had  voluntarily  obeyed  us  are 
only  restrained  by  fear,  then,  although  we,  during  our  days, 
may  escape  the  peril,  yet  am  I  solicitous  respecting  the 
safety  of  our  posterity  and  the  immortality  of  the  Com- 
monwealth itself,  which,  doubtless,  might  become  perpet- 
ual and  invincible  if  our  people  would  maintain  their  an- 
cient institutions  and  manners, 

XXX.  When  Lailius  had  ceased  to  speak,  all  those  that 
were  present  expressed  the  extreme  pleasure  they  found 
in  his  discourse.  But  Scipio,  more  affected  than  the  rest, 
and  ravished  with  the  delight  of  sympathy,  exclaimed  : 
You  have  pleaded,  my  La3lius,  many  causes  with  an  elo- 
quence superior  to  that  of  Servius  Galba,  our  colleague, 
whom  you  used  during  his  life  to  prefer  to  all  others,  even 
to  the  Attic  orators  [and  never  did  I  hear  you  speak  with 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  441 

more  energy  than  to-day,  wliile  pleading  the  cause  of  jus- 
tice]^ **  * 

*  *  *  That  two  things  were  wanting  to  enable  him  to  speak  in  public 
and  in  the  fonim,  contidence  and  voice. 

XXXT.  *  *  *  This  justice,  continued  Scipio,  is  the  very 
foundation  of  lawful  government  in  political  constitutions. 
Can  we  call  the  State  of  Agrigentum  a  commonwealth, 
where  all  men  aie  oppressed  by  the  cruelty  of  a  single 
tyrant — where  there  is  no  universal  bond  of  right,  nor  so- 
cial consent  and  fellowship,  which  should  belong  to  every 
people,  properly  so  named  ?  It  is  the  same  in  Syracuse — 
that  illustrious  city  which  Timaeus  calls  the  greatest  of 
the  Grecian  towns.  It  was  indeed  a  most  beautiful  city; 
and  its  admirable  citadel,  its  canals  distributed  through 
all  its  districts,  its  broad  streets,  its  porticoes,  its  temples, 
and  its  walls,  gave  Syracuse  the  appearance  of  a  most 
flourishing  state.  But  while  Dionysius  its  tyrant  reigned 
there,  nothing  of  all  its  wealth  belonged  to  the  people, 
and  the  people  were  nothing  better  than  the  slaves  of  one 
master.  Thus,  wdierever  I  behold  a  tyrant,  I  know  that 
the  social  constitution  must  be  not  merely  vicious  and  cor- 
rupt, as  I  stated  yesterday,  but  in  strict  truth  no  social 
constitution  at  all. 

XXXII.  Lcelius.  You  have  spoken  admirably,  my 
Scipio,  and  I  see  the  point  of  your  observations. 

Scipio.  You  grant,  then,  that  a  state  which  is  entirely 
in  the  power  of  a  faction  cannot  justly  be  entitled  a  polit- 
ical community  ? 

Lcelius.  That  is  evident. 

jScijno.  You  judge  most  correctly.  For  what  was  the 
State  of  Athens  when,  during  the  great  Peloponnesian 
war,  she  fell  under  the  unjusl)  domination  of  the  thirty 
tyrants?  The  antique  glory  of  that  city,  the  imposing 
aspect  of  its  edifices,  its  theatre,  its  gymnasium,  its  porti- 
coes, its  temples,  its  citadel,  the  admirable  sculptures  of 
Phidias,  and  the  magnificent  harbor  of  Piraeus — did  they 
constitute  it  a  commonwealth  ? 

Lcelius.  Certainly  not,  because  these  did  not  constitute 
the  real  welfare  of  the  community. 

'  Twelve  pages  are  missing  here. 
19* 


442  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

Scipio.  And  at  Rome,  when  the  decemvirs  ruled  with^ 
out  api^eal  from  their  decisions,  in  tlie  third  year  of  their 
power,  had  not  liberty  lost  all  its  securities  and  all  its 
blessings  ? 

Lcdius.  Yes;  the  welfare  of  the  community  was  no 
longer  consulted,  and  the  people  soon  roused  themselves, 
and  recovered  their  appropriate  rights. 

XXXIII.  Scipio.  I  now  come  to  the  third,  or  demo- 
cratical,  form  of  government,  in  which  a  considerable  dif- 
ficulty presents  itself,  because  all  things  are  there  said  to 
lie  at  the  disposition  of  the  people,  and  are  carried  into 
execution  just  as  they  please.  Here  the  populace  inflict 
punishments  at  their  pleasure,  and  act,  and  seize,  and  keep 
possession,  and  distribute  property,  without  let  or  hinder- 
ance.  Can  you  deny,  my  Laelius,  that  this  is  a  fair  defini- 
tion of  a  democracy,  where  the  people  are  all  in  all,  and 
where  the  people  constitute  the  State? 

Lceliiis.  There  is  no  political  constitution  to  which  I 
more  absolutely  deny  the  name  of  a  commonicealth  than 
that  in  which  all  things  lie  in  the  power  of  the  multitude. 
If  a  commonwealth,  which  implies  the  welfare  of  the  en- 
tire community,  could  not  exist  in  Agrigentum,  Syracuse, 
or  Athens  when  tyrants  reigned  over  them  —  if  it  could 
not  exist  in  Kome  when  under  the  oligarchy  of  the  decem- 
virs— neither  do  I  see  how  this  sacred  name  of  common- 
wealth can  be  applied  to  a  democracy  and  the  sway  of 
the  mob ;  because,  in  the  first  place,  my  Scipio,  I  build  on 
your  own  admirable  definition,  that  there  can  be  no  com- 
munity, properly  so  called,  unless  it  be  regulated  by  a  com- 
bination of  rights.  And,  by  this  definition,  it  appears 
that  a  multitude  of  men  may  be  just  as  tyrannical  as  a 
single  despot;  and  it  is  so  much  the  worse,  since  no  mon- 
ster can  be  more  barbarous  than  the  mob,  which  assumes 
the  name  and  appearance  of  the  people.  Nor  is  it  at  all 
reasonable,  since  the  laws  place  the  property  of  madmen 
in  the  hands  of  their  sane  relations,  that  wo  should  do 
the  [very  reverse  in  politics,  and  throw  the  property  of 
the  sane  into  the  hands  of  the  mad  multitude]^  *  *  * 

XXXIV.  *  *  *  [It  is  far  more  rational]  to  assert  that 
a  wise  and  virtuous  aristocratical  government  deserves 

*  Eight  pages  are  missing  here. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  443 

the  title  of  a  common wealtli,  as  it  approaches  to  the  nat- 
ure of  a  kingdom. 

And  much  more  so  in  my  opinion,  said  Mummius.  For 
the  unity  of  power  often  exposes  a  king  to  become  a  des- 
pot; but  wlien  an  aristocracy,  consisting  of  many  virtuous 
men,  exercise  power,  that  is  the  most  fortunate  circum- 
stance possible  for  any  state.  However  this  be,  I  much 
prefer  royalty  to  democracy ;  for  that  is  the  third  kind  of 
government  which  you  have  remaining,  and  a  most  vicious 
one  it  is. 

XXXV.  Scipio  replied :  I  am  well  acquainted,  my 
Mummius,  with  your  decided  antipathy  to  the  democrati- 
cal  system.  And,  although  we  may  speak  of  it  with  rallicr 
more  indulgence  than  you  are  accustomed  to  accord  it, 
1  must  certainly  agree  with  you,  that  of  all  the  three  par- 
ticular forms  of  government,  none  is  less  commendable 
than  democracy. 

I  do  not  agree  with  you,  however,  w^hen  you  would  im- 
ply that  aristocracy  is  preferable  to  royalty.  If  you  sup- 
pose that  wisdom  governs  the  State,  is  it  not  as  well  that 
this  wisdom  should  reside  in  one  monarch  as  in  many 
nobles  ? 

But  we  are  led  away  by  a  certain  incorrectness  of  terms 
in  a  discussion  like  the  present.  When  we  pronounce  the 
word  "  aristocracy,"  which,  in  Greek,  signifies  the  govern- 
ment of  the  best  men,  what  can  be  conceived  more  excel- 
lent? For  what  can  be  thought  better  than  the  best? 
But  when,  on  the  other  hand,  the  title  "king"  is  mention- 
ed, we  begin  to  imagine  a  tyrant;  as  if  a  king  must  be 
necessarily  unjust.  But  we  are  not  speaking  of  an  unjust 
king  when  we  are  examining  the  true  nature  of  royal  au- 
thority.^ To  this  mime  of  king,  therefore,  do  but  attach 
the  idea  of  a  Romulus,  a  Numa,  a  Tullus,  and  perhaps  you 
will  be  less  severe  to  the  monarchical  form  of  constitution. 

Mummius.  Have  you,  then,  no  commendation  at  all  for 
any  kind  of  democratical  government? 

Scipio.  Why,  I  think  some  democratical  forms  less  ob- 
jectionable than  others ;  and,  by  way  of  illustration,  I  w^ill 
ask  you  what  you  thought  of  the  government  in  the  isle 
of  Rhodes,  where  we  were  lately  together;  did  it  appear 
to  vou  a  leoitimate  and  rational  constitution  ? 


444  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

Mummius.  It  did,  and  not  much  liable  to  abuse. 

Sci2no.  You  say  truly.  But,  if  you  recollect,  it  was  a 
very  extraordinary  experiment.  All  the  inhabitants  Avere 
alternately  senators  and  citizens.  Some  months  they  spent 
in  their  senatorial  functions,  and  some  months  they  spent 
in  their  civil  employments.  In  both  tliey  exercised  judi- 
cial powers;  and  in  the  theatre  and  the  court,  the  same 
men  judged  all  causes,  capital  and  not  capital.  And  they 
had  as  much  influence,  and  were  of  as  much  importance 

OC      T*      T*      T^ 


FRAGMENTS. 

XXXVI.  There  is  therefore  some  unquiet  feeh'ng  in  individuals,  wliich 
either  exults  in  pleasure  or  is  crushed  by  annoyance. 

\_The  next  is  an  incomplete  sentence,  and,  as  such,  unintelligible. '\ 

The  Phoenicians  were  tlie  first  wlio  by  tlieir  commerce,  and  by  the 
merchandise  which  tliey  carried,  bronglit  avarice  and  magnificence  and 
insatiable  degrees  of  everytliing  into  Greece. 

Sardanapalus,  the  luxurious  king  of  Assyria,  of  whom  Tully,  in  the 
third  book  of  his  treatise  on  tlie  Eepublic,  says,  "The  notorious  Sarda- 
napalus, far  more  deformed  by  his  vices  than  even  by  his  name." 

\Vhat  is  tlie  meaning,  then,  of  this  absurd  acceptation,  unless  some 
one  wishes  to  make  the  whole  of  Athos  a  monument?  For  what  is 
Athos  or  the  vast  Olympus  ?  *  *  * 

XXXVI  \.  I  will  endeavor  in  the  proper  place  to  show  it,  according 
to  the  definitions  of  Cicero  himself,  in  which,  putting  forth  Scipio  as 
tlie  speaker,  he  has  briefly  explained  what  a  commonwealth  and  what  a 
republic  is ;  adducing  also  many  assertions  of  his  own,  and  of  those 
whom  he  has  represented  as  taking  i)art  in  that  discussion,  to  the  etlect 
that  the  State  of  Rome  was  not  such  a  commonwealth,  because  there 
has  never  been  genuine  justice  in  it.  However,  according  to  definitions 
which  are  more  reasonable,  it  was  a  commonwealth  in  some  degree,  and 
it  was  better  legulated  by  the  more  ancient  than  by  the  later  Komans. 

It  is  now  fitting  tliat  I  should  explain,  as  briefly  and  as  clearly  as  I 
can,  what,  in  th".  second  book  of  this  work,  I  promised  to  prove,  accord- 
ing to  the  definitions  which  Cicero,  in  his  books  on  the  Commonwealth, 
puts  into  tlie  mouth  of  Scipio,  arguing  that  the  Roman  State  was  never 
a  commonwealth  ;  for  he  briefly  defines  a  commonwealth  as  a  state  of 
tlie  people  ;  the  ])eople  as  an  assembly  of  the  multitude,  united  by  a  com- 
mon feeling  of  riglit,  and  a  community  of  interests.  What  he  calls  a 
common  feeling  of  right  he  explains  by  discussion,  showing  in  this  way 
that  a  commonwealth  cannot  j)roceed  without  justice.  Wiiere,  there- 
fore, there  is  no  genuine  justice,  there  can  be  no  right,  for  that  which  is 
done  according  to  right  is  done  justly  ;  and  what  is  done  unjustly  cannot 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  445 

be  (lone  according  to  right,  for  the  unjust  regulations  of  men  are  not  to 
be  called  or  thought  rights;  since  they  themselves  call  that  right  (jus) 
which  flows  from  the  source  of  justice  :  and  they  say  that  that  assertion 
which  is  often  made  by  some  persons  of  erroneous  sentiments,  namely, 
that  that  is  right  which  is  advantageous  to  the  most  powerful,  is  false. 
Wherefore,  where  there  is  no  true  justice  there  can  be  no  company  of 
men  united  by  a  common  feeling  of  right;  therefore  there  can  be  no 
people  (populus),  according  to  that  definition  of  IScipio  or  Cicero  :  and  if 
there  be  no  people,  there  can  be  no  state  of  the  people,  but  only  of  a  mob 
such  as  it  may  be,  which  is  not  worthy  of  the  name  of  a  people.  And 
thus,  if  a  commonwealth  is  a  state  of  a  people,  and  if  that  is  not  a  peo- 
ple which  is  not  united  by  a  common  feeling  of  right,  and  if  there  is  no 
right  where  there  is  no  justice,  then  the  undoubted  inference  is,  that 
where  there  is  no  justice  there  is  no  commonwealth.  Moreover,  justice 
is  that  virtue  which  gives  every  one  his  own. 

No  war  can  be  undertaken  by  a  just  and  wise  state  un- 
less for  faith  or  self-defence.  This  self-defence  of  the 
State  is  enough  to  insure  its  perpetuity,  and  this  perpe- 
tuity is  what  all  patriots  desire.  Those  afflictions  which 
even  the  hardiest  spirits  smart  under — poverty,  exile,  pi  is- 
on,  and  torment — private  individuals  seek  to  escape  from 
by  an  instantaneous  death.  But  for  states,  the  greatest 
calamity  of  all  is  that  of  death,  which  to  individuals  ap- 
pears a  refuge.  A  slate  should  be  so  constituted  as  to 
live  forever.  For  a  commonwealth  there  is  no  natural  dis- 
solution as  there  is  for  a  man,  to  whom  death  not  only  be- 
comes necessary,  but  often  desirable.  And  when  a  state 
once  decays  and  falls,  it  is  so  utterly  revolutionized,  that, 
if  we  may  compare  great  things  with  small,  it  resembles 
the  final  wreck  of  the  universe. 

All  wars  undertaken  without  a  proper  motive  are  un- 
just. And  no  war  can  be  reputed  just  unless  it  be  duly 
announced  and  proclaimed,  and  if  it  be  not  preceded  by  a 
rational  demand  for  restitution. 

Our  Roman  Commonwealth,  by  defending  its  allies,  has 
got  possession  of  the  world. 


446  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  FOURTH  BOOK, 

BY   THE    ORIGINAL   TRANSLATOR. 

In  this  fourth  book  Cicero  treats  of  morals  and  education,  and  the  use 
and  abuse  of  stage  entertainments.  We  retain  nothing  of  this  im- 
portant book  save  a  few  scattered  fragments,  the  beauty  of  which  fills 
us  with  the  greater  regret  for  the  passages  we  have  lost. 


BOOK  IV. 
FRAGMENTS. 

I.  *  *  *  Since  mention  has  been  made  of  the  body  and  of  the  mind,  I 
■will  endeavor  to  expLiin  the  theory  of  eacii  as  well  as  the  weakness  of 
my  understanding  is  able  to  comprehend  it — a  duty  which  I  think  it  the 
more  becoming  in  me  to  undertake,  because  Marcus  Tullius,  a  man  of 
singular  genius,  after  having  attempted  to  perform  it  in  the  fourth  book 
of  his  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth,  compressed  a  subject  of  wide  ex- 
tent witliin  narrow  limits, only  touching  lightly  on  all  the  principal  points. 
And  tliat  there  might  be  no  excuse  alleged  for  his  not  having  followed 
out  tliis  topic,  he  himself  has  assured  us  that  he  was  not  wanting  either 
in  inclination  or  in  anxiety  to  do  so ;  for,  in  the  first  book  of  his  trea- 
tise on  Laws,  when  he  was  touching  briefly  on  the  same  subject,  bespeaks 
thus:  "This  topic  Scipio,  in  my  opinion,  has  sufficiently  discussed  in 
those  books  which  you  have  read." 

And  the  mind  itself,  which  sees  the  future,  remembers  the  past. 

Well  did  Marcus  Tullius  say.  In  truth,  if  there  is  no  one  who  would  not 
prefer  death  to  being  changed  into  the  form  of  some  beast,  althougli  he 
were  still  to  retain  the  mind  of  a  man,  how  much  more  wretched  is  it  to 
liave  the  mind  of  a  beast  in  the  form  of  a  man  !  To  me  this  fate  appears 
as  much  worse  than  the  other  as  the  mind  is  superior  to  the  body. 

Tullius  says  somewhere  that  he  does  not  think  the  good  of  a  ram  and 
of  Publius  Africanus  identical. 

And  also  by  its  being  interposed,  it  causes  shade  and  night,  which  is 
adapted  both  to  the  numbering  of  days  and  to  rest  from  labor. 

And  as  in  the  autumn  he  has  opened  the  earth  to  receive  seeds,  in 
winter  relaxed  it  that  it  may  digest  them,  and  by  the  ripening  powers  of 
summer  softened  some  and  burned  up  others. 

When  the  shepherds  use  *  *  *  for  cattle. 

Cicero,  in  the  foin-th  book  of  his  Commonwealth,  uses  tlie  word  "ar- 
mentum,"  and  "armcntarius,"  derived  from  it. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  447 

II.  The  great  law  of  just  and  regular  subordination  is 
the  basis  of  political  prosperity.  There  is  much  advan- 
tage in  the  harmonious  succession  of  ranks  and  orders 
and  classes,  in  which  the  suffrages  of  the  knights  and  the 
senators  have  their  due  weight.  Too  many  have  foolishly 
desired  to  destroy  this  institution,  in  the  vain  hope  of  re- 
ceiving some  new  largess,  by  a  public  decree,  out  of  a  dis- 
tribution of  the  property  of  the  nobility. 

III.  Consider,  now, how  wisely  the  other  provisions  have 
been  adopted,  in  order  to  secure  to  the  citizens  the  bene- 
fits of  an  honest  and  happy  life ;  for  that  is,  indeed,  the 
grand  object  of  all  political  association,  and  that  which 
every  government  should  endeavor  to  procure  for  the  peo- 
ple, partly  by  its  institutions,  and  partly  by  its  laws. 

Consider,  in  the  first  place,  the  national  education  of 
the  people — a  matter  on  which  the  Greeks  have  expended 
much  labor  in  vain,  and  which  is  the  only  point  on  which 
Polybius,  who  settled  among  us,  accuses  the  negligence  of 
our  institutions.  For  our  countrymen  have  thought  that 
education  ought  not  to  be  fixed,  nor  regulated  by  laws,  nor 
be  given  publicly  and  uniformly  to  all  classes  of  society. 
Yov'  *  *  * 

According  to  Tiilly,  who  says  tliat  men  going  to  serve  in  the  army 
have  guardians  assigned  to  them,  by  wliom  they  are  governed  the  first 
year. 

IV.  [In  our  ancient  laws,  young  men  were  prohibited 
from  appearing]  naked  in  the  public  baths,  so  far  back 
were  the  principles  of  modesty  traced  by  our  ancestors. 
Among  the  Greeks,  on  the  contrary,  what  an  absurd  sys- 
tem of  training  youth  is  exhibited  in  their  gymnasia! 
What  a  frivolous  preparation  for  the  labors  and  hazards  of 
war  !  what  indecent  spectacles,  what  impure  and  licentious 
amours  are  permitted  !  I  do  not  speak  only  of  the  Eleans 
and  Thebans,  among  whom,  fn  all  love  affairs,  passion  is 
allowed  to  run  into  shameless  excesses ;  but  the  Spartans, 
while  they  permit  every  kind  of  license  to  their  young 
men,  save  that  of  violation,  fence  off,  by  a  very  slight  wall, 
the  very  exception  on  which  they  insist,  besides  other 
crimes  which  I  will  not  mention. 

^  Six  or  eight  pages  are  missing  here. 


448  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

Then  Lailius  said :  I  see,  my  Scipio,  that  on  the  subject 
of  tlie  Greek  institutions,  which  you  censure,  you  prefer 
attacking  the  customs  of  the  most  renowned  peoples  to 
contending  with  your  fav(3rite  Plato,  whose  name  you 
have  avoided  citing,  especially  as  *  '•'  * 

V,  So  that  Cicero,  in  his  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth,  says  that  it 
was  a  repvoacli  to  yonng  men  if  they  had  no  lovers. 

Not  only  as  at  Sparta,  where  boys  learn  to  steal  and  plunder. 

And  our  master  Plato,  even  more  than  Lycurgus,  who  would  have 
everything  to  be  common,  so  that  no  one  should  be  able  to  call  anything 
his  own  property. 

I  would  send  him  to  the  same  place  whither  he  sends  Homer,  crown- 
ed with  chaplets  and  anointed  with  perfumes,  banishing  him  from  the 
city  which  he  is  describing. 

VI.  The  judgment  of  the  censor  inflicts  scarcely  anything  more  than 
a  blush  on  the  man  whom  he  condemns.  Therefore  as  all  that  adjudica- 
tion turns  solely  on  the  name  {novien),  the  punishment  is  called  ignominy. 

Nor  should  a  pjrefect  be  set  over  women,  an  officer  who  is  created 
among  the  Greeks ;  but  there  should  be  a  censor  to  teach  husbands  to 
manage  their  wives. 

So  the  discipline  of  modesty  has  great  power.  All  women  abstain 
from  wine. 

And  also  if  any  woman  was  of  bad  character,  her  relations  used  not 
to  kiss  her. 

So  petulance  is  derived  from  asking  (petendo)  •  wantonness  (procaci- 
tas)  from  procando,  that  is,  from  demanding, 

VII,  Yox  I  do  not  approve  of  the  same  nation  being  the  ruler  and  the 
farmer  of  lands.  But  both  in  private  families  and  in  the  affairs  of  the 
Commonwealth  I  look  upon  economy  as  a  revenue. 

Faith  {fides)  appears  to  me  to  derive  its  name  from  that  being  done 
{fit)  which  is  said. 

In  a  citizen  of  rank  and  noble  birth,  caressing  manners,  display,  and 
ambition  are  marks  of  levity. 

Examine  for  a  while  the  books  on  the  Republic,  and  learn  that  good 
men  know  no  bound  or  limit  in  consulting  the  interests  of  tlieir  country. 
See  in  that  treatise  with  what  praises  frugality,  and  continency,  and 
fidelity  to  the  marriage  tie,  and  chaste,  honorable,  and  virtuous  man- 
ners are  extolled. 

VIII.  I  marvel  at  the  elegant  choice,  not  only  of  the  facts,  but  of  the 
language.  If  they  dispute  {jurg^nt).  It  is  a  contest  between  well- 
wishers,  not  a  quarrel  between  enemies,  that  is  called  a  dispute  {jurgium). 

Therefore  the  law  considers  that  neighbors  dispute  {jurgare)  rather 
than  quarrel  (litigare)  with  one  another. 

The  bounds  of  man's  care  and  of  man's  life  are  the  same;  so  by  the 
pontifical  law  the  sanctity  of  burial  *  *  * 

They  put  them  to  deatli,  though  innocent,  because  they  had  left  those 
men  unburied  whom  they  could  not  rescue  from  the  sea  because  of  the 
violence  of  the  storm. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  449 

Nor  in  this  discussion  liave  I  advocated  the  cause  of  tlie  popuhice, 
but  of  the  good. 

For  one  cannot  easily  resist  a  powerfid  people  if  one  j^ives  tliein  either 
no  viglits  at  all  or  very  little.  . 

In  which  case  I  wish  I  couM  augur  first  with  truth  and  fidelity  *  *  * 

IX.  Cicero  saying  this  in  vain,  when  speaking  of  poets,  "And  when 
the  shouts  and  approval  of  the  people,  as  of  some  great  and  wise  teacher, 
has  reached  them,  what  darkness  do  they  bring  on !  what  alarms  do 
they  cause!  what  desires  do  they  excite!" 

Cicero  says  that  if  his  life  were  extended  to  twice  its  length,  he  should 
not  have  time  to  read  the  lyric  poets. 

X.  As  Scipio  says  in  C'icero,  "As  they  thought  the  whole  histrion- 
ic ait,  and  everything  cotmected  with  the  theatre,  discreditable,  they 
thought  fit  that  all  men  of  that  description  should  not  only  be  deprived 
of  the  honors  belonging  to  the  rest  of  the  citizens,  but  should  also  be 
deprived  of  their  franchise  by  the  sentence  of  the  censors." 

And  what  the  ancient  Romans  thought  on  this  subject  Cicero  informs 
ns,  in  those  books  which  he  wrote  on  the  Commonwealth,  where  Scipio 
argues  and  says  *  *  * 

Comedies  could  never  (if  it  had  not  been  authorized  by 
the  common  customs  of  life)  have  made  theatres  approve 
of  their  scandalous  exhibitions.  And  the  more  ancient 
Greeks  provided  a  certain  correction  for  the  vicious  taste 
of  the  people,  by  making  a  law  that  it  shoukl  be  expressly 
defined  by  a  censorship  what  subjects  comedy  should  treat, 
and  how  she  should  treat  tliem. 

Whom  has  it  not  attacked?  or,  rather,  whom  has  it  not 
wounded?  and  whom  has  it  spared?  In  tliis,  no  doubt, 
it  sometimes  took  the  right  side,  and  lashed  the  popular 
demagogues  and  seditious  agitators,  such  as  Cleon,  Cleo- 
phon,  and  Hyperbolus.  We  may  tolerate  that ;  though  in- 
deed the  censure  of  the  magistrate  would,  in  these  cases, 
have  been  more  efficacious  than  the  satire  of  the  poet.  But 
■when  Pericles,  who  governed  the  Athenian  Commonwealth 
for  so  many  years  with  the  highest  authority,  both  in 
peace  and  war,  was  outraged  by  verses,  and  these  were 
acted  on  the  stage,  it  was  hardly  more  decent  than  if, 
among  us,  Plantns  and  Nsevius  had  attacked  Publius  and 
Cnseus,  or  CaeciUus  had  ventured  to  revile  Marcus  Cato. 

Our  laws  of  the  Twelve  Tables,  on  the  contrary  —  so 
careful  to  attach  capital  punishment  to  a  very  few  crimes 
only  —  have  included  in  this  class  of  capital  offences  the 
offence  of  com])osing  or  publicly  reciting  verses  of  libel, 
slander,  and  defamation,  in  order  to  cast  dishonor  and  in- 


450  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

famy  on  a  fellow-citizen.  And  they  have  decided  wisely; 
for  our  life  and  character  should,  if  suspected,  be  submit- 
ted to  the  sentence  of  judicial  tribunals  and  the  legal  in- 
vestigations of  our  magistrates,  and  not  to  the  whims  and 
fancies  of  poets.  Nor  should  we  be  exposed  to  any  charge 
of  disgrace  which  w^e  cannot  meet  by  legal  process,  and 
openly  refute  at  the  bar. 

In  our  laws,  I  admire  the  justice  of  their  expressions,  as 
well  as  their  decisions.  Thus  the  word  pleading  signiiies 
rather  an  amicable  suit  between  friends  than  a  quarrel  be- 
tween enemies. 

It  is  not  easy  to  resist  a  powerful  people,  if  you  allow 
them  no  rights,  or  next  to  none. 

The  old  Romans  would  not  allow  any  living  man  to  be  either  praised 
or  blamed  on  tlie  stnge. 

XL  Cicero  says  that  comedy  is  an  imitation  of  life;  a  mirror  of  cus- 
toms, an  image  of  truth. 

Since,  as  is  mentioned  in  tliat  book  on  the  Commonwealth,  not  only 
did  ^schines  the  Athenian,  a  man  of  the  greatest  eloquence,  who,  when 
a  young  man,  had  been  an  actor  of  tragedies,  concern  himself  in  public 
affairs,  but  the  Athenians  often  sent  Aristodemus,  wbo  was  also  a  tragic 
actor,  to  Philip  as  an  ambassador,  to  treat  of  the  most  important  affairs 
of  peace  and  war. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  FIFTH  BOOK, 

BY  THE   ORIGINAL  TRANSLATOR. 

In  this  fifth  book  Cicero  explains  and  enforces  the  duties  of  magistrates, 
and  the  importance  of  practical  experience  to  all  who  undertake  their 
important  functions.  Only  a  few  fragments  have  survived  the  wreck 
of  ages  and  descended  to  us. 


BOOK  V. 
FRAGMENTS. 

I.  Ennius  has  told  us — 

Of  men  and  customs  mighty  Rome  consists  ; 

which  verse,  both  for  its  precision  and  its  verity,  appears 
to  me  as  if  it  had  issued  from  an  oracle;  for  neither  the 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  451 

men,  unless  the  State  had  adopted  a  certain  system  of 
manners — nor  the  manners,  unless  they  had  been  illus- 
trated by  the  men — could  ever  have  established  or  main- 
tained for  so  many  ages  so  vast  a  republic,  or  one  of  such 
righteous  and  extensive  sway. 

Thus,  long  before  our  own  times,  the  force  of  heredita- 
ry manners  of  itself  moulded  most  eminent  men ;  and  ad- 
mirable citizens,  in  return,  gave  new  weight  to  the  ancient 
customs  and  institutions  of  our  ancestors.  But  our  age, 
on  tlie  contrary,  having  received  the  Commonwealth  as  a 
finished  picture  of  another  century,  but  one  already  be- 
ginning to  fade  through  the  lapse  of  years,  has  not  only 
neglected  to  renew  the  colors  of  the  original  painting,  but 
has  not  even  cared  to  preserve  its  general  form  and  prom- 
inent lineaments. 

For  what  now  remains  of  those  antique  manners,  of 
which  the  poet  said  that  our  Commonwealth  consisted? 
They  have  now  become  so  obsolete  and  forgotten  that 
they  are  not  only  not  cultivated,  but  they  are  not  even 
known.  And  as  to  the  men,  what  shall  I  say?  For  the 
manners  themselves  have  only  perished  through  a  scarcity 
of  men  ;  of  which  great  misfortune  we  are  not  only  called 
to  give  an  .account,  but  even,  as  men  accused  of  capital 
offences,  to  a  certain  degree  to  plead  our  own  cause  in 
connection  with  it.  For  it  is  owing  to  our  vices,  rather 
than  to  any  accident,  that  we  have  retained  the  name  of 
republic  when  we  have  long  since  lost  the  reality. 

II.  *  *  *  There  is  no  employment  so  essentially  royal 
as  the  exposition  of  equity,  which  comprises  the  true  in- 
terpretation of  all  laws.  This  justice  subjects  used  gen- 
erally to  expect  from  their  kings.  For  this  reason,  lands, 
fields,  woods,  and  pastures  were  reserved  as  the  proper- 
ty of  kings,  and  cultivated  for  them,  without  any  labor  on 
their  part,  in  order  that  no  anxiety  on  account  of  their 
personal  interests  might  distract  their  attention  from  the 
welfare  of  the  State.  Nor  was  any  private  man  allowed 
to  be  the  judge  or  arbitrator  in  any  suit;  but  all  disputes 
were  terminated  by  the  royal  sentence. 

And  of  all  our  Roman  monarchs,  Numa  appears  to  me 
to  have  best  preserved  this  ancient  custom  of  the  kings  of 
Greece.     For  the  others,  though  they  also  discharged  this 


452  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

duty,  were  for  the  main  part  employed  in  conducting  mili- 
tary enterprises,  and  in  attending  to  those  rights  which 
belonged  to  war.  But  the  long  peace  of  Numa's  reign 
was  the  mother  of  law  and  religion  in  this  city.  And  he 
was  himself  the  author  of  those  admirable  laws  which,  as 
you  are  aware,  are  still  extant.  And  this  character  is 
precisely  what  belongs  to  the  man  of  whom  we  are  speak- 
in^,  '*'  *  * 

III.  [Sci2no.  Ought  not  a  farmer]  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  nature  of  plants  and  seeds  ? 

3Ia?iilius.  Certainly,  provided  he  attends  to  his  practi- 
cal business  also. 

Scipio.  Do  you  think  that  knowledge  only  fit  for  a 
steward  ? 

3IanUius.  Certainly  not,  inasmuch  as  the  cultivation  of 
land  often  fails  for  want  of  agricultural  labor. 

Scipio.  Therefore,  as  the  steward  knows  the  nature  of 
a  field,  and  the  scribe  knows  penmanship,  and  as  both  of 
them  seek,  in  their  respective  sciences,  not  mere  amuse- 
ment only,  but  practical  utility,  so  this  statesman  of  ours 
should  have  studied  the  science  of  jurisprudence  and 
legislation ;  he  should  have  investigated  their  original 
sources  ;  but  he  should  not  embarrass  himself  in  debating 
and  arguing,  reading  and  scribbling.  He  should  rather 
employ  himself  in  the  actual  administration  of  govern- 
ment, and  become  a  sort  of  steward  of  it,  being  perfectly 
conversant  with  the  principles  of  universal  law  and  equity, 
without  which  no  man  can  be  just:  not  unfamiliar  with 
the  civil  laws  of  states ;  but  he  will  use  them  for  practical 
purposes,  even  as  a  pilot  uses  astronomy,  and  a  physician 
natural  philosophy.  For  both  these  men  bring  their  theo- 
retical science  to  bear  on  the  practice  of  their  arts;  and 
our  statesman  [should  do  the  same  with  the  science  of 
politics,  and  make  it  subservient  to  the  actual  interests  of 
philanthropy  and  patriotism].  *  *  * 

IV.  *  *  *  In  states  in  which  good  men  desire  glory  and 
approbation,  and  shun  disgrace  and  ignominy.  Nor  are 
such  men  so  much  alarmed  by  the  threats  and  penalties 
of  the  law  as  by  that  sentiment  of  shame  with  which  nat- 
ure has  endowed  man,  which  is  nothing  else  than  a  cer- 
tain fear  of  deserved  censure.    The  wise  director  of  a  gov- 


ON  THE   COxMMONWEALTH.  453 

ernment  strengthens  this  natural  instinct  by  the  force  of 
public  opinion,  and  perfects  it  by  education  and  manners. 
And  thus  the  citizens  are  preserved  from  vice  and  corrup- 
tion rather  by  honor  and  shame  than  by  fear  of  punish- 
ment. But  this  argument  will  be  better  illustrated  when 
we  treat  of  the  love  of  glory  and  praise,  which  we  shall 
discuss  on  another  occasion. 

V".  As  respects  the  private  life  and  the  manners  of  the 
citizens,  they  are  intimately  connected  with  the  laws  that 
constitute  just  marriages  and  legitimate  offspring,  under 
the  protection  of  the  guardian  deities  around  the  domestic 
hearths.  By  these  laws,  all  men  should  be  maintained  in 
their  rights  of  public  and  private  property.  It  is  only  un- 
der a  good  government  like  this  that  men  can  live  happily 
— for  nothing  can  be  more  delightful  than  a  well-consti- 
tuted state. 

On  which  account  it  appears  to  me  a  very  strange  thing 
what  this  *  *  * 

VI.  I  therefore  consume  all  my  time  in  considering  what  is  the  power 
of  that  man,  -whom,  as  you  think,  we  have  described  carefully  enough  in 
our  books.  Do  you,  then,  admit  our  idea  of  that  governor  of  a  com- 
monwealth to  whom  we  wish  to  refer  everything?  For  thus,  I  imagine, 
does  Scipio  speak  in  the  fiftli  book  :  "For  as  a  fair  voyage  is  the  object 
of  the  master  of  a  ship,  the  health  of  his  patient  tlie  aim  of  a  physician, 
and  victory  that  of  a  general,  so  the  happiness  of  his  fellow-citizens  is 
the  proper  study  of  the  ruler  of  a  commor.wealth  ;  that  they  may  be 
stable  in  power,  rich  in  resources,  widely  known  in  reputation,  and  lion- 
orable  through  their  virtue.  For  a  ruler  ought  to  be  one  who  can  per- 
fect this,  which  is  the  best  and  most  important  employment  among 
mankind," 

And  works  in  your  literature  rightly  praise  that  ruler  of  a  country  who 
consults  the  welfare  of  his  people  more  than  their  inclinations. 

VII.  TuUy,  in  those  books  which  he  wrote  upon  the  Commonwealth, 
could  not  conceal  his  opinions,  when  he  sj)eaks  of  appointing  a  chief  of 
the  State,  who,  he  says,  must  be  maintained  by  glory  ;  and  afterward  he 
rehites  that  his  ancestors  did  many  admirable  and  noble  actions  from  a 
desire  of  glory. 

Tully,  in  his  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth,  wrote  that  the  chief  of  a 
state  must  be  maintained  by  glory,  and  that  a  commonwealth  would  last 
as  long  as  honor  was  paid  by  every  one  to  the  chief. 

[  TAe  next  paragraph  is  unintelligible.^ 

Which  virtue  is  called  fortitude,  which  consists  of  magnanimity,  and 
a  great  contempt  of  death  and  pain. 

VIII.  As  Marcellus  was  fierce,  and  eager  to  fight,  Maximus  prudent 
and  cautious. 


454  ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH. 

Wlio  discovered  liis  violence  and  nnbridled  ferocity. 

Which  has  often  iiappened  not  only  to  individuals,  but  also  to  most 
powerfid  nations. 

In  the  whole  world. 

Because  he  inflicted  the  annoyances  of  his  old  age  on  your  families. 

IX.  Cicero,  in  his  treatise  on  the  Commonwealth,  says,  "As  Mene- 
laus  of  Laceda!mon  had  a  certain  agreeable  sweetness  of  eloquence." 
And  in  another  place  he  snys,  "Let  him  cultivate  brevity  in  speaking." 

By  the  evidence  of  which  arts,  as  Tally  says,  it  is  a  shame  for  the  con- 
science of  the  judge  to  be  misled.  For  he  says,  "And  as  nothing  in  a 
commonwealth  ought  to  be  so  uncorrupt  as  a  suffrage  and  a  sentence,  I 
do  not  see  why  the  man  who  perverts  them  by  money  is  worthy  of  pun- 
ishment, while  he  who  does  so  by  eloquence  is  even  praised.  Indeed,  I 
myself  think  that  he  who  corrupts  the  judge  by  his  speech  does  more 
harm  than  he  who  does  so  by  money,  because  no  one  can  corrupt  a  sen- 
sible man  by  money,  though  he  may  by  speaking." 

And  when  Scipio  had  said  this,  Mummius  praised  him  greatly,  for  he 
was  extravagantly  imbued  with  a  hatred  of  orators. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  SIXTH  BOOK. 

In  this  last  book  of  his  Commonwealth,  Cicero  labors  to  show  that  truly 
pious  phiianthropical  and  patriotic  statesmen  will  not  only  be  reward- 
ed on  earth  by  the  approval  of  conscience  and  the  applause  of  all  good 
citizens,  but  that  they  may  expect  hereafter  immortal  glory  in  new 
forms  of  being.  To  illustrate  this,  he  introduces  the  "Dream  of 
Scipio,"  in  which  he  explains  the  resplendent  doctrines  of  Plato  re- 
specting the  immortality  of  the  soul  with  inimitable  dignity  and  ele- 
gance. This  Somnium  Scipionis,  for  which  we  are  indebted  to  the  ci- 
tation of  Macrobius,  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  of  the  kind  ever  writ- 
ten. It  has  been  intensely  admired  by  all  European  scholars,  and  will 
be  still  more  so.  There  are  two  translations  of  it  in  our  language ; 
one  attached  to  Oliver's  edition  of  Cicero's  Thoughts,  the  other  by 
Mr.  Danby,  published  in  1829.  Of  these  we  have  freely  availed  our- 
selves, and  as  freely  we  express  our  acknowledgments. 


BOOK  VI. 

SCIPIO'S  DREAM. 

I.  Therefore  you  rely  upon  all  the  prudence  of  this  rule,  which  has 
derived  its  A^ery  name  (prudentia)  from  foreseeing  (a  providendo). 
Wherefore  the  citizen  must  so  prepare  himself  as  to  be  always  armed 
against  those  things  which  trouble  the  constitution  of  a  state.     And  that 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  455 

dissension  of  ihe  citizens,  when  one  party  separates  from  and  attacks  an- 
otlicr,  is  called  sedition. 

And  in  truth  in  civil  dissensions,  as  the  good  are  of  more  importance 
than  the  many,  I  think  that  we  should  regard  the  weight  of  the  citizens, 
and  not  their  number. 

For  the  lusts,  being  severe  mistresses  of  the  thoughts,  command  and 
compel  many  an  vmbridled  action.  And  as  they  cannot  be  satisfied  or 
appeased  by  any  means,  they  ui-ge  those  whom  they  have  inflamed  with 
their  allurements  to  every  kind  of  atrocity. 

ir.  Which  indeed  was  so  much  the  greater  in  him  because  though 
the  cause  of  the  colleagues  was  identical,  not  only  was  their  un'popularity 
i^.ot  equal,  but  the  influence  of  Gracchus  was  employed  in  mitigating  the 
hatred  borne  to  Claudius. 

Who  encomitered  the  number  of  the  chiefs  and  nobles  with  these 
words,  and  left  behind  him  that  mournful  and  dignified  expression  of 
his  gravity  and  influence. 

That,  as  he  writes,  a  thousand  men  might  every  day  descend  into  the 
forum  with  cloaks  dyed  in  purple. 

\_The  next  paragraph  is  unintelligible.'] 

For  our  ancestors  wished  marriages  to  be  firmly  established. 

There  is  a  speech  extant  of  Lalius  with  which  we  are  all  acquainted, 
expressing  how  pleasing  to  the  immortal  gods  are  the  *  *  *  and  *  *  *  of 
the  priests. 

III.  Cicero,  Avriting  about  the  Commonwealth,  in  imitation  of  Plato, 
has  related  the  story  of  the  return  of  Er  the  Famphylian  to  life ;  who, 
as  he  says,  had  come  to  life  again  after  he  had  been  placed  on  the  funer- 
al pile,  and  related  many  secrets  about  the  shades  below ;  not  speaking, 
like  Plato,  in  a  fabulous  imitation  of  truth,  but  using  a  certain  reason- 
able invention  of  an  ingenious  dream,  cleverly  intimating  that  these  things 
which  were  uttered  about  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  about  heaven, 
are  not  the  inventions  of  dreaming  philosophers,  nor  the  incredible  fables 
which  the  Epicureans  ridicule,  but  the  conjectures  of  wise  men.  He  in- 
sinuates that  that  Scipio  who  by  the  subjugation  of  Carthage  obtained 
Africanus  as  a  surname  for  his  family,  gave  notice  to  Scipio  the  son  of 
Paulus  of  the  treachery  which  threatened  him  from  his  relations,  and 
tlie  course  of  fate,  because  by  the  necessity  of  numbers  he  was  confined 
in  the  period  of  a  perfect  life,  and  he  says  that  he  in  the  fifty-sixth  year 
of  his  age  *  *  * 

IV.  Some  of  our  religion  who  love  Plato,  on  account  of  his  admirable 
kind  of  eloquence,  and  of  some  correct  opinions  Avhich  he  held,  say  that 
he  had  some  opinions  similar  to  my  own  touching  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead,  which  subject  Tully  touches  on  in  his  treatise  on  the  Common- 
wealth, and  says  that  he  was  rather  jesting  than  intending  to  say  that 
was  true.  For  he  asserts  that  a  man  returned  to  life,  and  related  some 
stories  which  harmonized  with  the  discussions  of  the  Platonists. 

V.  In  this  point  the  imitation  has  especially  preserved  the  likeness  of 
the  work,  because,  as  Plato,  in  the  conclusion  of  his  volume,  represents 
a  certain  person  who  had  returned  to  life,  which  he  appeared  to  have 
quitted,  as  indicating  what  is  the  condition  of  souls  when  stripped  of  the 


456  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

body,  with  the  atldition  of  a  certain  not  unnecessary  description  of  the 
splieres  and  stars,  an  appearance  of  circumstances  indicating  things  of 
the  same  kind  is  rehited  by  the  Scipio  of  Cicero,  as  having  been  brought 
before  liim  in  sleep. 

VI.  TuUy  is  found  to  have  preserved  tliis  arrangement  with  no  less 
judgment  tlian  genius.  After,  in  every  condition  of  the  Commonwealth, 
whether  of  leisure  or  business,  he  has  given  the  palm  to  justice,  he  has 
placed  the  sacred  abodes  of  the  immortal  souls,  and  the  secrets  of  the 
heavenly  regions,  on  the  very  summit  of  his  completed  work,  indicating 
whither  they  must  come,  or  rather  return,  who  have  managed  the  repub- 
lic with  prudence,  justice,  fortitude,  and  moderation.  But  that  Platonic 
relater  of  secrets  was  a  man  of  the  name  of  Er,  a  Fampliylian  by  nation, 
a  soldier  by  profession,  who,  after  he  appeared  to  have  died  from  wounds 
received  in  battle,  and  twelve  days  afterward  was  about  to  receive  the 
honors  of  the  funeral  i)ile  with  the  others  who  were  slain  at  the  same 
time,  suddenly  either  recovering  his  life,  or  else  never  having  lost  it,  as 
if  he  were  giving  a  public  testimony,  related  to  all  men  all  that  he  had 
done  or  seen  in  the  days  that  he  had  thus  passed  between  life  and  death. 
Although  Cicero,  as  if  himself  conscious  of  the  truth,  grieves  that  this 
story  has  been  ridiculed  by  the  ignorant,  still,  avoiding  giving  an  exam- 
ple of  foolish  reproach,  he  preferred  speaking  of  the  relater  as  of  one 
awakened  from  a  swoon  rather  than  restored  to  life. 

VII.  And  before  we  look  at  the  words  of  the  dream  we  must  explain 
what  kind  of  persons  they  are  by  whom  Cicero  says  that  even  the  ac- 
count of  Plato  was  ridiculed,  \vho  are  not  apprehensive  that  the  same 
tiling  may  happen  to  them.  Nor  by  this  expression  does  he  wish  the 
i.^norant  mob  to  be  undei  stood,  but  a  kind  of  men  who  are  ignorant  of 
the  truth,  though  pretending  to  be  pliilosophers  with  a  display  of  learn- 
ing, who,  it  was  notorious,  had  read  such  things,  and  were  eager  to  find 
faults.  We  will  say,  tlierefore,  who  they  are  whom  he  reports  as  having 
levelled  light  reproaches  against  so  great  a  philosopher,  and  who  of 
them  has  even  left  an  accusation  of  him  committed  to  writing,  etc.  The 
whole  faction  of  the  Epicureans,  always  wandering  at  an  equal  distance 
from  truth,  and  thinking  everything  ridiculous  which  they  do  not  under- 
stand, has  ridiculed  the  sacred  volume,  and  the  most  venerable  mysteries 
of  nature.  But  Colotes,  who  is  somewhat  celebrated  and  remarkable 
for  his  loquacity  among  the  pupils  of  Epicurus,  has  even  recorded  in  a 
book  the  bitter  reproaches  which  he  aims  at  him.  But  since  the  other 
arguments  which  he  foolishly  urges  have  no  connection  with  the  dream 
of  which  we  are  now  talking,  we  will  pass  them  over  at  present,  and  at- 
tend only  to  the  calumny  which  will  stick  both  to  Cicero  and  Plato,  un- 
less it  is  silenced.  He  says  that  a  fable  ought  not  to  have  been  invented 
by  a  philosopher,  since  no  kind  of  falsehood  is  suitable  to  professors  of 
truth.  For  why,  says  he,  if  you  wish  to  give  us  a  notion  of  heavenly 
things  and  to  teach  ns  the  nature  of  souls,  did  you  not  do  so  by  a  simple 
and  phiin  e\i)lanation  ?  Why  was  a  cliaracter  invented,  and  circum- 
stances, and  strange  events,  and  a  scene  of  cunningly  adduced  falsehood 
arranged,  to  pollute  the  very  door  of  the  investigation  of  truth  by  a  lie? 
Since  tliese  things,  though  they  are  said  of  the  Platonic  Er,  do  also  at- 
tack the  rest  of  our  dreaming  Africanus. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  457 

VIII.  This  occasion  incited  Scipio  to  relate  liis  dream,  which  he  de- 
clares that  he  had  buried  in  silence  for  a  long  time.  For  when  Ltelius 
was  complaining  that  there  were  no  statues  of  Nasica  erected  in  any 
public  place,  as  a  reward  for  his  having  slain  the  tyrant,  Scipio  replied 
in  these  words:  "But  although  the  consciousness  itself  of  great  deeds 
is  to  wise  men  the  most  ample  reward  of  virtue,  yet  that  divine  nature 
ought  to  have,  not  statues  fixed  in  lead,  nor  triumphs  with  withering 
laurels,  but  some  more  stable  and  lasting  kinds  of  rewards."  "What 
are  they?"  said  Lailius.  "Then,"  said  Scipio,  "suffer  me,  since  we 
have  now  been  keeping  holiday  for  three  days,  *  *  *  etc."  By  which 
preface  he  came  to  the  relation  of  his  dream ;  pointing  out  that  those 
were  the  more  stable  and  lasting  kinds  of  rewards  which  he  himself  had 
seen  in  heaven  reserved  for  good  governors  of  commonwealths, 

IX.  When  I  had  arrived  in  Africa,  where  I  was,  as  you 
are  aware,  military  tribune  of  the  fourth  legion  under  the 
consul  Manilius,  there  was  nothing  of  which  I  was  more 
earnestly  desirous  than  to  see  King  Masinissa,  who,  for 
very  just  reasons,  had  been  always  the  especial  friend  of 
our  family.  When  I  was  introduced  to  him,  the  old  man 
embraced  me,  shed  tears,  and  then,  looking  up  to  heaven, 
exclaimed — I  thank  thee,  O  supreme  Sun,  and  ye  also,  ye 
other  celestial  beings,  that  before  I  depart  from  this  life 
I  behold  in  my  kingdom,  and  in  this  my  palace,  Publius 
Cornelius  Scipio,  by  whose  mere  name  I  seem  to  be  rean- 
imated ;  so  completely  and  indelibly  is  the  recollection  of 
that  best  and  most  invincible  of  men,  Africanus,  imprinted 
in  my  mind. 

After  this,  I  inquired  of  him  concerning  the  affairs  of 
his  kingdom.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  questioned  me  about 
the  condition  of  our  Commonwealth,  and  in  this  mutual 
interchange  of  conversation  we  passed  the  whole  of  that 
day. 

X.  In  the  evening  we  were  entertained  in  a  manner 
worthy  the  magnificence  of  a  king,  and  carried  on  our  dis- 
course for  a  considerable  part  of  the  night.  And  during 
all  this  time  the  old  man  spoke  of  nothing  but  Africanus, 
all  whose  actions,  and  even  remarkable  sayings,  he  remem- 
bered distinctly.  At  last,  when  we  retired  to  bed,  I  fell 
into  a  more  profound  sleep  than  usual,  both  becaiuse  I  was 
fatigued  with  my  journey,  and  because  I  had  sat  up  the 
greatest  part  of  the  night. 

Here  I  had  the  following  drean],  occasioned,  as  I  verily 
believe,  by  our  preceding  conversation ;  for  it  frequently 

20 


458  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

happens  that  the  thoughts  and  discourses  wliich  have  em- 
ployed us  in  the  daytime  produce  in  our  sleep  an  effect 
somewhat  similar  to  that  Avhich  Ennius  writes  happened 
to  him  about  Homer,  of  whom,  in  his  waking  hours,  he 
used  frequently  to  think  and  speak. 

Africanus,  I  thought,  appeared  to  me  in  that  shape,  with 
which  I  was  better  acquainted  from  his  picture  than  from 
any  personal  knowledge  of  him.  When  I  perceived  it 
was  he,  I  confess  I  trembled  with  consternation ;  but  he 
addressed  me,  saying.  Take  courage,  my  Scipio;  be  not 
afraid,  and  carefully  remember  what  I  shall  say  to  you. 

XI.  Do  you  see  that  city  *  Carthage,  which,  though 
brought  under  the  Roman  yoke  by  me,  is  now  renewing 
former  wars,  and  cannot  live  in  peace?  (and  he  pointed 
to  Carthage  from  a  lofty  spot,  full  of  stars,  and  brilliant, 
and  glittering) — to  attack  which  city  you  are  this  day  ar- 
rived in  a  station  not  much  superior  to  that  of  a  private 
soldier.  Before  two  years,  however,  are  elapsed,  you  shali 
be  consul,  and  complete  its  overthrow ;  and  you  shall  ob- 
tain, by  your  own  merit,  the  surname  of  Africanus,  which 
as  yet  belongs  to  you  no  otherwise  than  as  derived  from 
me.  And  when  you  have  destroyed  Carthage,  and  received 
the  honor  of  a  triumph,  and  been  made  censor,  and,  in 
quality  of  ambassador,  visited  Egypt,  Syria,  Asia,  and 
Greece,  you  shall  be  elected  a  second  time  consul  in  your 
absence,  and,  by  utterly  destroying  Numantia,  put  an  end 
to  a  most  dangerous  war. 

But  when  you  have  entered  the  Capitol  in  your  tri- 
umphal car,  you  shall  find  the  Roman  Commonwealth  all 
in  a  ferment,  through  the  intrigues  of  my  grandson  Tibe- 
rius Gracchus. 

XII.  It  is  on  this  occasion,  my  dear  Africanus,  that  you 
show  your  country  the  greatness  of  your  understanding, 
capacity,  and  prudence.  But  I  see  that  the  destiny,  how- 
ever, of  that  time  is,  as  it  were,  uncertain  ;  for  when  your 
age  shall  have  accomplished  seven  times  eight  rerolntions 
of  the  sun,  and  your  fatal  hours  shall  be  marked  out  by 
the  natural  product  of  these  two  numbers,  each  of  >vhich 
is  esteemed  a  perfect  one,  but  for  different  reasons,  then 
shall  the  whole  city  have  recourse  to  you  alone,  and  place 
its  hopes  in  your  auspicious  name.     On  you  the  senate, 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  459 

all  good  citizens,  the  allies,  the  people  of  Latium,  shall  cast 
their  eyes ;  on  you  the  preservation  of  the  State  shall  en- 
tirely depend.  In  a  word,  if  you  escafpe  the  impious 
machinations  of  your  relatives^  you  will,  in  quality  of 
dictator,  establish  order  and  tranquillity  in  the  Common' 
wealth. 

When  on  this  Lailius  made  an  exclamation,  and  the  rest 
of  the  company  groaned  loudly,  Scipio,  with  a  gentle  smile, 
said,  I  entreat  you,  do  not  wake  me  out  of  my  dream,  but 
have  patience,  and  hear  the  rest. 

XIII.  Now,  in  order  to  encourage  you,  my  dear  Afri- 
canus,  continued  the  shade  of  my  ancestor,  to  defend  the 
State  with  the  greater  cheerfulness,  be  assured  that,  for 
all  those  who  have  in  any  way  conduced  to  the  preserva- 
tion, defence,  and  enlargement  of  their  native  country, 
there  is  a  certain  place  in  heaven  v/here  they  shall  enjoy 
an  eternity  of  happiness.  For  nothing  on  earth  is  more 
agreeable  to  God,  the  Supreme  Governor  of  the  universe, 
than  the  assemblies  and  societies  of  men  united  together 
by  laws,  which  are  called  states.  It  is  from  heaven  their 
rulers  and  preservers  came,  and  thither  they  return. 

XIV.  Though  at  these  words  I  was  extremely  troubled, 
not  so  much  at  the  fear  of  death  as  at  the  perfidy  of  my 
own  relations,  yet  I  recollected  myself  enough  to  inquire 
whether  he  himself,  my  father  Paulus,  and  others  whom 
we  look  upon  as  dead,  were  really  living. 

Yes,  truly,  replied  he,  they  all  enjoy  life  who  have  es- 
caped from  the  chains  of  the  body  as  from  a  prison.  But 
as  to  what  you  call  life  on  earth,  that  is  no  more  than  one 
form  of  death.  But  see ;  here  comes  your  father  Paulus 
towards  you !  And  as  soon  as  I  observed  him,  my  eyes 
burst  out  into  a  flood  of  tears ;  but  he  took  me  in  his 
arms,  embraced  me,  and  bade  me  not  weep. 

XV.  When  my  first  transports  subsided,  and  I  regain- 
ed the  liberty  of  speech,  I  addressed  my  father  thus:  Thou 
best  and  most  venerable  of  parents,  since  this,  as  I  am  in- 
formed by  Africanus,  is  the  only  substantial  life,  why  do 
I  linger  on  earth,  and  not  rather  haste  to  come  hither 
where  you  are  ? 

That,  replied  he,  is  impossible :  unless  that  God,  whose 
temple  is  all  that  vast  expanse  you  behold,  shall  free  you 


460  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

from  the  fetters  of  tlie  body,  you  can  liave  no  admission 
into  this  place.  Mankind  have  received  tlieir  being  on 
this  very  condition,  that  they  should  labor  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  that  globe  which  is  situated,  as  you  see,  in  the 
midst  of  this  temple,  and  is  called  earth. 

Men  are  likewise  endowed  with  a  soul,  which  is  a  por- 
tion of  the  eternal  fires  which  you  call  stars  and  constella- 
tions; and  which,  being  round,  spherical  bodies,  animated 
by  divine  intelligences,  perform  their  cycles  and  revolu- 
tions with  amazing  rapidity.  It  is  your  duty,  therefore, 
my  Publius,  and  that  of  all  who  have  any  veneration  for 
the  Gods,  to  preserve  this  wonderful  union  of  soul  and 
body  ;  nor  without  the  express  command  of  Him  who  gave 
you  a  soul  should  the  least  thought  be  entertained  of  quit- 
ting human  life,  lest  you  seem  to  desert  the  post  assigned 
you  by  God  himself. 

But  rather  follow  the  examples  of  your  grandfather 
here,  and  of  me,  your  father,  in  paying  a  strict  regard  to 
justice  and  piety;  which  is  due  in  a  great  degree  to  par- 
ents and  relations,  but  most  of  all  to  our  country.  Such 
a  life  as  this  is  the  true  way  to  heaven,  and  to  the  compa- 
ny of  those,  who,  after  having  lived  on  earth  and  escaped 
from  the  body,  inhabit  the  place  which  you  now  behold. 

XVI.  This  was  the  shining  circle,  or  zone,  whose  re- 
markable brightness  distinguishes  it  among  the  constel- 
lations, and  which,  after  the  Greeks,  you  call  the  Milky 
Way. 

From  thence,  as  I  took  a  view  of  the  universe,  every- 
thing appeared  beautiful  and  admirable;  for  there  those 
stars  are  to  be  seen  that  are  never  visible  from  our  globe, 
and  everything  appears  of  such  magnitude  as  we  could 
not  have  imagined.  The  least  of  all  the  stars  was  that 
removed  farthest  from  heaven,  and  situated  next  to  the 
earth ;  I  mean  our  moon,  which  shines  with  a  borrowed 
light.  Now,  the  globes  of  the  stars  far  surpass  the  mag- 
nitude of  our  earth,  which  at  that  distance  appeared  so 
exceedingly  small  that  I  could  not  but  be  sensibly  affected 
on  seeing  our  whole  empire  no  larger  than  if  we  touched 
the  earth,  as  it  were,  at  a  single  point. 

XVII.  And  as  I  continued  to  observe  the  earth  with 
great   attention,  How  long,  I   pray  you,  said   African  us, 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  461 

will  your  mind  be  fixed  on  that  object?  why  don't  yon 
rather  take  a  view  of  the  magnificent  temples  among  which 
you  have  arrived  ?  The  universe  is  composed  of  nine  cir- 
cles, or  rather  spheres,  one  of  which  is  the  heavenly  one, 
and  is  exterior  to  all  the  rest,  which  it  embraces ;  being 
itself  the  Supreme  God,  and  bounding  and  containing  the 
whole.  In  it  are  fixed  those  stars  which  revolve  with 
never-varying  courses.  Below  this  are  seven  other  spheres, 
which  revolve  in  a  contrary  direction  to  that  of  the  heav- 
ens. One  of  these  is  occupied  by  the  globe  which  on 
earth  they  call  Saturn,  Next  to  that  is  the  star  of  Jupi- 
ter, so  benign  and  salutary  to  mankind.  The  third  in  or- 
der is  that  fiery  and  terrible  planet  called  Mars.  Below 
this,  again,  almost  in  the  middle  region,  is  the  sun — the 
leader,  governor,  and  prince  of  the  other  luminaries;  the 
soul  of  the  world,  which  it  regulates  and  illumines ;  be- 
ing of  such  vast  size  that  it  pervades  and  gives  light  to 
all  places.  Then  follow  Venus  and  Mercury,  which  at- 
tend, as  it  w^ere,  on  the  sun.  Lastly,  the  moon,  which 
shines  only  in  the  reflected  beams  of  the  sun,  moves  in 
the  lowest  sphere  of  all.  Below  this,  if  we  except  that 
gift  of  the  Gods,  the  soul,  which  has  been  given  by  the 
liberality  of  the  Gods  to  the  human  race,  everything  is 
mortal,  and  tends  to  dissolution ;  but  above  the  moon  all 
is  eternal.  For  the  earth,  which  is  the  ninth  globe,  and 
occupies  the  centre,  is  immovable,  and,  being  the  lowest, 
all  others  gravitate  towards  it. 

XVIII.  When  I  had  recovered  myself  from  the  aston- 
ishment occasioned  by  such  a  wonderful  prospect,  I  thus 
addressed  Africanus  :  Pray  what  is  this  sound  that  strikes 
my  ears  in  so  loud  and  agreeable  a  manner?  To  which 
he  replied :  It  is  that  which  is  called  the  music  of  the 
s^jJieres,  being  produced  by  their  motion  and  impulse; 
and  being  formed  by  unequal  intervals,  but  such  as  are 
divided  according  to  the  justest  proportion,  it  produces, 
by  duly  tempering  acute  with  grave  sounds,  various  con- 
certs of  harmony.  For  it  is  impossible  that  motions  so 
great  should  be  performed  without  any  noise;  and  it  is 
agreeable  to  nature  that  the  extremes  on  one  side  should 
produce  sharp,  and  on  the  other  flat  sounds.  For  which 
reason  the  sphere  of  the  fixed  stars,  being  the  highest,  and 


462  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

being  carried  with  a  more  rapid  velocity,  moves  with  a 
shrill  and  acute  sound;  whereas  that  of  the  moon,  being 
the  lowest,  moves  with  a  very  flat  one.  As  to  the  earth, 
which  makes  the  ninth  sphere,  it  remains  immovably  fixed 
in  the  middle  or  lowest  part  of  the  universe.  But  those 
eight  revolving  circles,  in  which  both  Mercury  and  Venus 
are  moved  with  the  same  celerity,  give  out  sounds  that  are 
divided  by  seven  distinct  intervals,  which  is  generally  the 
regulating  number  of  all  things. 

This  celestial  harmony  has  been  imitated  by  learned 
musicians  both  on  stringed  instruments  and  with  the 
voice,  whereby  they  have  opened  to  themselves  a  way  to 
roturn  to  the  celestial  regions,  as  have  likewise  many  oth- 
ers who  have  employed  their  sublime  genius  while  on  earth 
in  cultivating  the  divine  sciences. 

By  the  amazing  noise  of  this  sound  the  ears  of  man- 
kind have  been  in  some  degree  deafened ;  and  indeed  hear- 
ing is  the  dullest  of  all  the  human  senses.  Thus,  the  peo- 
ple who  dwell  near  the  cataracts  of  the  Nile,  which  are 
called  Catadupa,'  are,  by  the  excessive  roar  w^hich  that 
river  makes  in  precipitating  itself  from  those  lofty  moun- 
tains, entirely  deprived  of  the  sense  of  hearing.  iVnd  so 
inconceivably  great  is  this  sound  which  is  produced  by 
the  rapid  motion  of  the  whole  universe,  that  the  human  ear 
is  no  more  capable  of  receiving  it  than  the  eye  is  able  to 
look  steadfastly  and  directly  on  the  sun,  whose  beams  easi- 
ly dazzle  the  strongest  sight. 

While  I  was  busied  in  admiring  the  scene  of  wonders,  I 
could  not  help  casting  my  eyes  every  now  and  then  on  the 
earth. 

XIX.  On  wdiich  Africanus  said,  I  perceive  that  you  are 
still  employed  in  contemplating  the  seat  and  residence  of 
mankind.  But  if  it  appears  to  you  so  small,  as  in  fact  it 
really  is,  despise  its  vanities,  and  fix  your  attention  forever 
on  these  heavenly  objects.  Is  it  possible  that  you  should 
attain  any  human  applause  or  glory  that  is  worth  the  con- 
tending for?  The  earth, you  see,  is  peopled  but  in  a  very 
few  places,  and  those,  too,  of  small  extent ;  and  they  ap- 
pear like  so  many  little  spots  of  green  scattered  through 
vast,  unctiltivated  deserts.  And  those  who  inhabit  the 
'  Catadupa,  from  Kara,  and  dolTroc,  noise. 


ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH.  463 

earth  are  not  only  so  remote  from  each  other  as  to  be  cut 
off  from  all  mutual  correspondence,  but  their  situation  be- 
ing in  oblique  or  contrary  parts  of  the  globe,  or  perhaps 
in  those  diametrically  opposite  to  yours,  all  expectation  of 
universal  fame  must  fall  to  the  ground, 

XX.  You  may  likewise  observe  that  the  same  globe  of 
the  earth  is  girt  and  surrounded  with  certain  zon  i,  where- 
of those  two  that  are  most  remote  from  each  other,  and 
lie  under  the  opposite  poles  of  heaven,  are  congealed  with 
frost ;  but  that  one  in  the  middle,  which  is  far  the  largest, 
is  scorched  with  the  intense  heat  of  the  sun.  The  other 
two  are  habitable,  one  towards  the  south,  the  inhabitants 
of  which  are  your  antipodes,  with  whom  you  have  no  con^ 
nection ;  the  other,  towards  the  north,  is  that  which  you 
inhabit,  whereof  a  very  small  part,  as  you  may  see,  falls  to 
your  share.  For  the  whole  extent  of  what  you  see  is,  as 
it  were,  but  a  little  island,  narrow  at  both  ends  and  wide 
in  the  middle,  which  is  surrounded  by  the  sea  which  on 
earth  you  call  the  great  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  which,  not- 
withstanding this  magnificent  name,  you  see  is  very  insig- 
nificant. And  even  in  these  cultivated  and  well-known 
countries,  has  yours,  or  any  of  our  names,  ever  passed  the 
heights  of  the  Caucasus  or  the  currents  of  the  Ganges? 
In  what  other  parts  to  the  north  or  the  south,  or  where  the 
sun  rises  and  sets,  will  your  names  ever  be  heard  ?  And 
if  we  leave  these  out  of  the  question,  how  small  a  space  is 
there  left  for  your  glory  to  spread  itself  abroad ;  and  how 
long  will  it  remain  in  the  memory  of  those  whose  minds 
are  now  full  of  it  ? 

XXI.  Besides  all  this,  if  the  progeny  of  any  future  gen- 
eration should  wish  to  transmit  to  their  posterity  the 
praises  of  any  one  of  us  which  they  have  heard  from  their 
forefathers,  yet  the  deluges  and  combustions  of  the  earth, 
which  must  necessarily  happen  at  their  destined  periods, 
will  prevent  our  obtaining,  not  only  an  eternal,  but  even  a 
durable  glory.  And,  after  all,  what  does  it  signify  wheth- 
er those  who  shall  hereafter  be  born  talk  of  you,  when 
those  who  have  lived  before  you,  whose  number  Avas  per- 
haps not  less,  and  whose  merit  certainly  greater,  were  not 
so  much  as  acquainted  with  your  name  ? 

XXII.  Especially  since  not  one  of  those  who  shall  hear 


464  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

of  US  is  able  to  retain  in  his  memory  the  transactions  of  a 
single  year.  The  bulk  of  mankind,  indeed,  measure  their 
year  by  the  return  of  the  sun,  which  is  only  one  star.  But 
when  all  the  stars  shall  have  returned  to  the  place  whence 
they  set  out,  and  after  long  periods  shall  again  exhibit 
the  same  aspect  of  the  whole  heavens,  that  is  what  ought 
properly  to  be  called  the  revolution  of  a  year,  though  I 
scarcely  dare  attempt  to  enumerate  the  vast  multitude  of 
ages  contained  in  it.  For  as  the  sun  in  old  time  was 
eclipsed,  and  seemed  to  be  extinguished,  at  the  time  when 
the  soul  of  Romulus  penetrated  into  these  eternal  man- 
sions, so,  when  all  the  constellations  and  stars  shall  revert 
to  their  primary  position,  and  the  sun  shall  at  the  same 
point  and  time  be  again  eclipsed,  then  you  may  consider 
that  the  grand  year  is  completed.  Be  assured,  however, 
that  the  twentieth  part  of  it  is  not  yet  elapsed. 

XXIII.  Wherefore,  if  you  have  no  hopes  of  returning 
to  this  place  where  great  and  good  men  enjoy  all  that 
their  souls  can  wish  for,  of  what  value,  pray,  is  all  that  hu- 
man glory,  which  can  hardly  endure  for  a  small  portion  of 
one  year? 

If,  then,  you  wish  to  elevate  your  views  to  the  contem- 
plation of  this  eternal  seat  of  splendor,  you  will  not  be 
satisfied  with  the  praises  of  your  fellow-mortals,  nor  with 
any  human  rewards  that  your  exploits  can  obtain ;  but 
Virtue  herself  must  point  out  to  you  the  true  and  only  ob- 
ject worthy  of  your  pursuit.  Leave  to  others  to  speak  of 
you  as  they  may,  for  speak  they  will.  Their  discourses 
will  be  confined  to  the  narrow  limits  of  the  countries  you 
see,  nor  will  their  duration  be  very  extensive;  for  they 
will  perish  like  those  who  utter  them,  and  will  be  no  more 
remembered  by  their  posterity. 

XXIV.  When  he  had  ceased  to  speak  in  this  manner,  I 
said,  O  Africanus,  if  indeed  the  door  of  heaven  is  open  to 
those  who  have  deserved  well  of  their  country,  although, 
indeed,  from  my  childhood  I  have  always  followed  yours 
and  my  father's  steps,  and  have  not  neglected  to  imitate 
your  glory,  still,  I  will  from  henceforth  strive  to  follow 
them  more  closely. 

Follow  them,  then,  said  he,  and  consider  your  body  only, 
not  yourself,  as  mortal.     For  it  is  not  your  outward  form 


ON  THE   COMMONWEALTH.  465 

which  constitutes  your  being,  but  your  mind ;  not  that 
substance  which  is  palpable  to  the  senses,  but  your  spirit- 
ual nature.  Know,  then,  that  you  are  a  God — for  a  God 
it  must  be,  which  flourishes,  and  feels,  and  recollects,  and 
foresees,  and  governs,  regulates  and  moves  the  body  over 
which  it  is  set,  as  the  Supreme  Ruler  does  the  world  which 
is  subject  to  him.  For  as  that  Eternal  Being  moves  what- 
ever is  mortal  in  this  world,  so  the  immortal  mind  of  man 
moves  the  frail  body  with  which  it  is  connected. 

XXV.  For  whatever  is  always  moving  must  be  eternal; 
but  that  which  derives  its  motion  from  a  power  which  is 
foreign  to  itself,  when  that  motion  ceases  must  itself  lose 
its  animation. 

That  alone,  then,  w^hich  moves  itself  can  never  cease  to 
be  moved,  because  it  can  never  desert  itself.  Moreover, 
it  must  be  the  source,  and  origin,  and  principle  of  motion 
in  all  the  rest.  There  can  be  nothing  prior  to  a  principle, 
for  all  things  must  originate  from  it ;  and  it  cannot  itself 
derive  its  existence  from  any  other  source,  for  if  it  did  it 
would  no  longer  be  a  principle.  And  if  it  had  no  begin- 
ning, it  can  have  no  end ;  for  a  beginning  that  is  put  an 
end  to  will  neither  be  renewed  by  any  other  cause,  nor 
will  it  produce  anything  else  of  itself.  All  things,  there- 
fore, must  originate  from  one  source.  Thus  it  follows 
that  motion  must  have  its  source  in  something  which  is 
moved  by  itself,  and  which  can  neither  have  a  beginning 
nor  an  end.  Otherwise  all  the  heavens  and  all  nature 
must  perish,  for  it  is  impossible  that  they  can  of  themselves 
acquire  any  power  of  producing  motion  in  themselves. 

XXVI.  As,  therefore,  it  is  plain  that  what  is  moved  by 
itself  must  be  eternal,  who  will  deny  that  this  is  the  gener- 
al condition  and  nature  of  minds  ?  For  as  everything  is 
inanimate  which  is  moved  by  an  impulse  exterior  to  itself, 
so  what  is  animated  is  moved  by  an  interior  impulse  of  its 
own  ;  for  this  is  the  peculiar  nature  and  power  of  mind. 
And  if  that  alone  has  the  powder  of  self-motion,  it  can 
neither  have  had  a  beginning,  nor  can  it  have  an  end. 

Do  you,  therefore,  exercise  this  mind  of  yours  in  the 
best  pursuits.  And  the  best  pursuits  are  those  which 
consist  in  promoting  the  good  of  your  country.  Such 
employments  will  speed  the  flight  of  your  mind  to  this  its 


466  ON  THE  COMMONWEALTH. 

proper  abode ;  and  its  flight  will  be  still  more  rapid,  if, 
even  while  it  is  enclosed  in  the  body,  it  will  look  abroad, 
and  disengage  itself  as  much  as  possible  from  its  bodily 
dwelling,  by  the  contemplation  of  things  which  are  exter- 
nal to  itself. 

This  it  should  do  to  the  utmost  of  its  power.  For  the 
minds  of  those  who  have  given  themselves  up  to  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  body,  paying,  as  it  were,  a  servile  obedience 
to  their  lustful  impulses,  have  violated  the  laws  of  God 
and  man ;  and  therefore,  when  they  are  separated  from 
their  bodies,  flutter  continually  round  the  earth  on  which 
they  lived,  and  are  not  allowed  to  return  to  this  celestial 
region  till  they  have  been  purified  by  the  revolution  of 
many  ages. 

Thus  saying,  he  vanished,  and  I  awoke  from  my  dream. 


A  FRAG^IENT. 

And  although  it  is  most  desirable  that  fortune  should 
remain  forever  in  the  most  brilliant  possible  condition, 
nevertheless,  the  equability  of  life  excites  less  interest  than 
those  changeable  conditions  wherein  prosperity  suddenly 
revives  out  of  the  most  desperate  and  ruinous  circum- 
stances. 


THE    END. 


rVERSITV  OF  CALIFORT  '4  LIBRARY 


14  DAY  USE 

RHTURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORKOWED 

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